


please don't say I'm going alone

by biblionerd07



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Ableist Language, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Anxiety, Bipolar Disorder, Developing Relationship, Homophobic Language, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Past Child Abuse, Past Rape/Non-con, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Running Away, Slurs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-12
Updated: 2019-06-18
Packaged: 2020-05-02 04:01:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 58,347
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19191463
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/biblionerd07/pseuds/biblionerd07
Summary: Ian shows up at Mickey's wedding and asks him to run away together. Somehow, Mickey finds himself stupid enough to say yes.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I started writing this a looong time ago and thought I'd given up on it. But here we are! I've already written the whole fic and will post as I edit/clean up the individual chapters. All in it's about 50k and all four chapters will probably be up within a week!

“Not everybody just gets to blurt out how they fucking feel every minute.”

The words hung there for a beat. Mickey looked at Ian, just for a second, and then he had to look away again. He didn’t want to parse through Ian’s emotions, written all over his face because Ian never fucking hid a thing.

“We could run.”

And then Mickey couldn’t help it—his head snapped up and he looked at Ian. “What?”

“Run away with me.” Ian’s voice was all urgent, low and insistent. “Right now. We can go out the back. By the time they come looking for you, we’ll be gone.”

“Where?” Mickey asked, because his brain wasn’t working. He didn’t even have to look at Ian to know his eyes were lighting up with hope.

“I don’t know,” Ian admitted. “Anywhere we want.”

Mickey breathed out harshly, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth. He couldn’t just run. His father would find him. His father would never let him be. This was going to be his life—a wife with perfume too strong and eyes too empty, some screaming kid he didn’t even know was really his, his father’s tight fist around his elbow every time he tried to move, a bow tie strangling him.

He bit the inside of his cheek. He didn’t want this. He’d never wanted any of this. All he’d fucking wanted was one day—but no. He’d wanted more than that. That’s what got him in trouble in the first place. Wanting more than he fucking deserved.

He was going to tell Ian to fuck off, tell him they’d never be safe as long as Terry was alive, but he made the mistake of looking at Ian first.

“Mickey,” Ian whispered. “I’m going either way. Come with me.” Mickey’s blood was buzzing, his skin was chafing in his stupid, uncomfortable tux, and Ian was just standing there in front of him, telling him they could get out of this. He was going either way. He was _leaving_ , he said. Mickey was drunk enough, stupid enough, _scared_ enough. Ian was still so close, this whole room smelled like sex from them, he could still taste Ian on his tongue. He licked his lips.

“Okay,” he said.

“Okay?” Ian echoed, surprised.

“We gotta do this fast,” Mickey said.

“Before they find us?”

“Before I change my mind.”

Ian’s hands came up to grab at Mickey’s arms, but it didn’t feel constraining. It felt steadying, and Mickey knew he was really in some fucking trouble if he was thinking shit like that. “Okay,” Ian breathed, pressing their foreheads together. Having his lips that close to Mickey’s was making Mickey forget what they were talking about, just a little. “Yeah, let’s go. We gotta—we’ll have to run back to your house to get you some clothes and stuff, but it’s gonna be so good, you’ll see. Just us. Together.”

“Fuck,” Mickey said. His hands were starting to shake, so he brought one up to clench in Ian’s hair. “Ian, I’m—this is…we can’t—”

“Go.”

They both whirled around, Mickey jumping away from Ian. Mandy was in the doorway, and from the look on her face, she’d seen enough to know what was going on.

“Mandy,” Ian said.

“ _Go_ ,” she repeated. “I’ll stall everyone. No one’s at the house.”

“Sorry,” Mickey said. He didn’t really know why he was apologizing to her—not like she’d ever had a chance with Ian anyway—but her face tightened a little.

“What?” Ian darted a glance at him and Mickey realized Ian thought he was backing out. Like Mickey would apologize if he were. He took a deep breath.

“You gonna be okay here?” He asked Mandy. It was a stupid question, the answer painfully obvious. No one was fucking okay here. Ian’s head was bobbing up and down like one of those bobblehead dog toys as he went from hopeful to disappointed and back again.

“Sure,” Mandy said, and now Ian looked as desperate as Mickey felt. Leaving Mandy here felt wrong, gave Mickey a deep pit in his stomach, especially after he’d heard her crying all night last night. He’d been awake trying not to do the same thing.

“We’ll tell you where we go,” Ian said. “Soon as we get there. Come find us.”

Mandy smiled, sad, and Ian ran over to wrap her up in a hug. Mickey bit down the jealousy trying to fight its way up. He wasn’t even sure who he was jealous of here.

“Hurry the fuck up,” Mandy said. “Get out of here.”

Ian was still just standing there, biting his lip, and Mickey’s whole body was starting to shake because if Mandy took too long Terry was going to come looking and that would be the end of all of them.

“Gallagher,” Mickey snapped. “If we’re going, we gotta go now.”

“We’re going,” Ian insisted. He hugged Mandy again, dropped a kiss to the top of her head. “I’ll call you,” he promised. It was weirdly reminiscent of a few months ago, another person left behind. At least Mickey hadn’t beaten the shit out of Mandy.

Not physically, anyway.

Mickey looked over at Mandy but if his legs went toward that door there was no way he’d go with Ian, so he stayed where he was. “Thanks,” he managed to say. She had shiny eyes like she was tearing up and it made his whole body shiver. Ian came back over to Mickey and they turned toward the back door without another word.

“Take care of him, asshole,” she called after them.

“Whatever,” Mickey said, because there was no question who she’d been talking to.

They dipped out the back door, wind slapping their faces and Mickey without a coat, and broke into a run. Mickey’s house was quiet and empty. He tore his tux off, leaving it in a heap on the floor and kicking it away from him. He threw clothes into a pillowcase, stuffed in his money stash—he had $200 left from robbing that old fuck who pumped his ass full of pellets—and added a gun from the closet in the hall.

“A gun?” Ian asked. “You think you’ll need a gun?”

“When don’t I fucking need a gun?” Mickey fired back. Ian didn’t have a response for that. Mickey looked out the front window before flinging the door open and dragging Ian outside. “People gonna be at your house?”

“No,” Ian said. “Fiona took Debbie and Liam camping.”

Mickey blinked. “Camping? What the fuck’s the point of going camping when we’re all barely a step above being homeless anyway?”

Ian laughed a little and Mickey hated the way it made his chest loosen. He couldn’t believe he was doing this. He couldn’t believe he was walking—running—down the street with his shit in a pillowcase over his shoulder. He couldn’t believe he could be so stupid.

“Hey, hey,” Ian said once they were outside his house and Mickey’s breath wasn’t coming any easier. “It’s gonna be okay. I promise.”

“You can’t fucking promise that.” Mickey’s voice was going all high-pitched the way it did when he was freaking out. Ian’s hands twitched, but he was smarter than Mickey usually gave him credit for, because he didn’t touch Mickey.

“Okay, fine,” Ian admitted. “I can’t promise that. But I promise I’ll help.”

“Oh, wow, that makes me feel fucking great,” Mickey spat, jittery nerves making anger rise up in his throat. “Why the fuck do you make me do things like this?”

“I didn’t make you do anything!” Ian protested. “I just _asked_.”

“Yeah,” Mickey said, teeth gritted. “You fucking asked.” Ian’s eyes widened and Mickey had to look away. “Let’s fucking go,” Mickey said. “They’re gonna be looking for me.”

Mickey had never spent a lot of time in the Gallagher house—he’d been there maybe three times, total, usually for intimidation purposes, and he hadn’t been there since he and Ian started up whatever it was except for the time he was looking for Frank—but he’d never seen it empty. It was almost eerie.

It was cluttered, but unlike Mickey’s house, it wasn’t drugs and guns and beer cans everywhere. There were laundry hampers and little-kid toys and a high-chair shoved in the corner. The fridge had _magnets_ on it and they were holding up drawings and school papers and pictures and shit. There was a fucking calendar on the wall. Mickey felt like he’d entered some bizarre-o world where people gave a shit about each other.

Though Mandy had helped them get away.

His brain skittered away from that. He couldn’t hold onto any thoughts for very long. His ears were ringing.

“Come on,” Ian said, pulling him up the stairs. Mickey wanted to protest. Upstairs wasn’t safe. If someone came in and they were upstairs, they wouldn’t be able to make a quick getaway. They’d have to jump out a fucking window or something, and Mickey hated breaking his ankles.

But Ian was going up the stairs, and Mickey couldn’t settle, and there was a freaky elephant picture on the fridge that was wigging him out, so he followed. The stairs were riddled with shoes and a Superman action figure and a knife that Ian grumbled about as he stooped to pick it up.

“Carl,” he muttered.

“Let’s fucking go,” Mickey said again. He was freaking the fuck out and if they didn’t get _somewhere_ away from Mickey’s dad he was going to lose it.

“Okay, we’re going,” Ian said. Mickey stood in the doorway as Ian packed a duffle, because of fucking course he had an actual _duffle bag_. It even had his name on it. He opened a drawer and reached behind it, pulled out an envelope stuffed with cash. “Managed to save up a bit,” he said proudly, and if Mickey wasn’t busy keeping his body from spontaneously combusting he would’ve made a sarcastic comment.

Ian’s hands were shaking a bit as he got shoes from the closet and Mickey licked his lips. “You sure?” He asked quietly.

Ian paused. He turned around to face Mickey. “Am _I_ sure?” He asked incredulously.

“Your family,” was all Mickey could say. Ian’s breath hitched a little.

“Yeah,” he said quietly. “Well. Yeah. They’ll understand.”

“They will?”

“Probably not,” Ian conceded with a horrible, wet-sounding laugh that made Mickey want to rip his own ears off. “But eventually they will.” Mickey didn’t know what to say, and Ian went back to packing. “Gimme your stuff,” Ian said. “Put it in here.”

“No,” Mickey said automatically. “We ain’t sharing a bag. That’s fucking gay.”

Ian gave him a disbelieving look. “Really?”

Mickey was ripping the skin around his thumbnail with his teeth so harshly it was bleeding. “I can’t—I—”

Ian’s face softened a little. He reached out and unclenched Mickey’s fingers from around the pillowcase. “Let me carry it,” Ian said. “It’ll be easier to run if we have to.”

Mickey breathed out shakily, but he nodded, relinquishing his hold. “Are you fucking ready yet?”

“Yeah,” Ian said, zipping the bag. “Let’s grab some food from the kitchen.”

“You sure?” Mickey asked, the question slipping out before he could stop it. “Can they afford it?” He wasn’t being rude. He actually meant it. Mickey knew too well how hard food could be to come by sometimes. Ian beamed at him like he’d fucking saved someone’s life.

“Yeah, it’s okay,” he said softly. “Fiona’s got a good new job. They’ll be fine.”

“Okay, whatever.”

Ian grabbed two boxes of Pop-Tarts and a bag of chips, opened the fridge and pulled out apples and then threw a jar of peanut butter in, too. “Well, it’ll hold us over,” he said with a shrug. “Ready?”

Mickey swallowed hard. If they went out that door, they were really going. His stuff was in Ian’s bag and his dad probably already had a patrol out looking for them. They’d have to go fast.

“Uh,” Mickey said. Ian just looked at him. They were wasting time they didn’t have, but Mickey was frozen. Ian took a step closer.

“Hey,” he said. He put his hand on the back of Mickey’s neck and Mickey clenched his eyes shut. Ian kissed him and Mickey took a shuddering breath like Ian had just given him fucking mouth-to-mouth.

“Let’s go,” Mickey said, pushing Ian away. “We don’t have time for this.”

Ian didn’t say anything. He led the way outside and Mickey found himself hanging onto the back of Ian’s coat, stopping him from just running headlong out the door. They both held their breath as they looked down the street, but there wasn’t anything going on besides the usual screaming from the neighbors.

“Okay,” Mickey breathed. “Come on.”

They ran. Ian’s legs were longer, but Mickey had pure, unadulterated terror spurring him on, so they stayed pretty neck-and-neck the whole way.

“Fuck,” Mickey swore, chest burning and lungs screaming. Ian was barely breathing hard. Fucking ROTC.

They made it to the bus station and Mickey had to put his hands on his knees and gulp for a second. He couldn’t tell if it was the running or the fact that there was no way his father wasn’t looking for him right now. No matter what distraction Mandy had managed, it’d been too long. And Mickey didn’t really want to think about Mandy’s distraction, either. She’d probably have a few new bruises tonight. Guilt tore through his stomach and he swallowed it down.

“Where should we go?” Ian asked quietly.

“Not Indiana,” Mickey said automatically. “My dad’s got business there.” _Business_. Drug runs, whores, guns. Ian was scanning the departures board, looking for something leaving right away that would get them far.

“How much cash you got?” Ian asked.

“Two hundred.”

Ian nodded. “Okay. I’ve got seven.”

“Seven dollars?” Mickey burst out. That wasn’t fucking helpful.

Ian rolled his eyes. Nice that he could still be a fucking asshole in the middle of a crisis. “Seven _hundred_.”

“How the fuck did you save seven hundred dollars?” Mickey asked. “You’re always crying about your damn squirrel fund.”

Ian bit down on a smile and Mickey wanted to shake him. This wasn’t something cute. They could fucking _die_. For real.

“Well, I saved three hundred from the job we pulled for Ned.” _Ned_. Fucking pansy-ass grandpa name. “And I hawked some of the stuff he bought me.”

Mickey would revisit that thought later, when he wasn’t about to puke all over the already-disgusting floor of the Greyhound station. “Okay, good job, Girl Scout,” he said. “Can we figure out where the fuck we’re going?”

“Our choices are Philly, New York, or Minneapolis,” Ian read off the board. “If we wait half an hour we can go to Detroit.”

“We don’t have half an hour.”

Ian raised his eyebrows. “Philly, New York, and Minneapolis.”

“Minneapolis,” Mickey said.

“Why?” Ian asked, already walking to the counter.

“Cheapest.”

“We have enough to go somewhere else,” Ian pointed out.

“Yeah, but we don’t know how long that money’s gotta last,” Mickey reminded him. Ian nodded. Mickey put his back to the counter while Ian got their tickets, kept his eyes scanning the crowd, barely breathing.

“That bus is leaving in five minutes,” the woman said.

“Perfect,” Ian replied. Her eyes narrowed suspiciously and Ian gave her a big smile. “We’re surprising our grandfather for Christmas. We go to school here and we weren’t sure when we could leave because of finals.”

“Oh,” she said, eyes darting a bit nervously over to Mickey. He rolled his eyes. Yeah, yeah. He was a scary thug and Ian was a perfect angel. What the fuck ever. “How nice,” she finished. She handed over the tickets without checking their IDs and Mickey followed Ian over to the bus.

“Come on,” Ian said.

“I’m right fucking here.”

Ian raised his eyebrows but thankfully kept his thoughts in his fucking head for a change. The bus wasn’t full. Mickey half-expected to see his father or the Russian girl pop up, but neither of them were sitting in the grubby seats. Ian herded him into a row, acting like it was all no big deal.

“You want the window or the aisle?” Ian asked, so casual and easy. Mickey gaped like a fish for a second even as the driver asked them to take their seats. “Come on, Mick, aisle or window?”

“I…” Mickey shook his head, helpless. He didn’t fucking know. Ian’s smile went all gentle at the corners and Mickey looked away. Ian put his hand on Mickey’s elbow and Mickey jumped a little, but Ian didn’t stop smiling.

“Take the window,” Ian said. His voice was all soft and comforting and Mickey was shaking and this was all so fucking ridiculous. “Sit down, Mickey.”

“No, I can’t,” Mickey burst out. “We can’t _do_ this.”

Ian just stared at him for a second. “Okay,” he said slowly. “So…you want to get off the bus and go home? To your dad, after you ran out on the wedding he was forcing you into?”

Mickey licked his lips. Well, when he put it that way…

Mickey sat down. Ian was obviously trying not to look smug, because he kept pushing his smile down. He wasn’t doing a very good job. Mickey dropped his head against the back of the seat and closed his eyes while Ian threw his duffel into the compartment above them.

And then the bus was moving. They were leaving. They were really going.

Mickey cracked his eyes open and glanced over at Ian, who looked back at him with a bright smile on his face.

“Here we go,” he murmured. He didn’t try to hold Mickey’s hand or anything fucking stupid like that, but he did press his leg into Mickey’s. It actually made Mickey feel better. His heart stopped pounding so hard, anyway.

“Yeah,” Mickey said, pushing his leg back into Ian’s. “Here we go.”

They were at the halfway mark and Mickey was going out of his fucking mind. He needed a smoke so bad he was practically clawing at the seat. Their next break wasn’t for half an hour and Mickey genuinely wasn’t sure if he’d make it. Ian was asleep, because growing up in that fucking house meant he could sleep through literally anything. The fucking bus could crash and Ian probably wouldn’t wake up.

Mickey was sweating. It was too fucking hot on the bus. He shook himself out of his coat and shoved it under the seat. This bus was too fucking small and there were too many people and he was going to snap any second. He felt dizzy.

It wouldn’t be safe to text Mandy, not yet. Terry probably had her phone anyway. Ian’s phone had buzzed a few times, but it didn’t wake him up. His head was tipping toward Mickey. The angle of his neck didn’t look comfortable at all. It was going to hurt like a bitch when he woke up.

Mickey dug the heels of his hands into his eyes, trying to take deep breaths. He was okay. He was safe. Why the hell would Terry look in Minneapolis? He wouldn’t. He wouldn’t find them. And he certainly wouldn’t find them on a bus. They were safe for another four hours, at the very least.

_Okay, okay, okay_ , Mickey repeated in his head over and over. He was fine. His hands were shaking. Ian snuffled a little in his sleep and Mickey watched him for a minute. He still had freckles splattered across his face, not as dark as in the summertime but there nonetheless. His hair was getting long, a curly mop spreading out across his head.

Ian’s eyelashes fluttered, but he didn’t wake up. Mickey swallowed hard, chest suddenly aching as he looked at Ian sleeping. Mickey bit his lip, and then he slid his arm around Ian’s shoulders and pulled Ian down to rest his head on Mickey’s shoulder. Ian mumbled a little, rubbing his face around against Mickey’s shirt. He sighed and settled down, and Mickey’s stomach settled a little, too. They were okay. They were safe.

 

“I’ve got two rooms with queens or a suite with a couch,” the lady at the front desk said. The whole shitty motel smelled like cigarettes and her face was so lined and saggy she’d probably smoked every last one.

“One queen,” Ian said confidently, and Mickey did his best not to look like he was there with Ian. The lady’s eyes flicked over to him, though, and Mickey had to fight the urge to say _no, give us the one with the couch_.

She dropped the keys in Ian’s hand and they went up the stairs— _elevator out of order_ , according to a handwritten sign—to a cramped room that was mostly bed. It smelled like someone had probably OD’ed in there and the bathroom door didn’t even close all the way, but it was fifty bucks a night and the lady hadn’t asked for ID or a credit card.

“Here we are,” Ian said.

“Not the kind of place your fucking sugar daddy takes you to, huh?” Mickey muttered.

“No,” Ian said easily.

“Yeah, well, sorry.”

Ian shrugged. “I’m not.”

Mickey huffed. “Had to get the queen, huh? So she’d know?”

Ian rolled his eyes. “You’re telling me a suite would be cheaper?”

“In this fucking dump it couldn’t be too bad,” Mickey insisted. He didn’t really know why he was picking a fight right now, but his hands were still shaking and he couldn’t stop pacing the tiny strip of filthy carpet between the bed and the TV stand. Ian, all flopped out across the stained bedspread, followed him with his eyes.

“Mickey,” he said softly.

“What the fuck did we do?” Mickey said. His voice broke a little. “He’s gonna kill us.”

“He’s not gonna find us,” Ian said.

“He always finds me,” Mickey said tersely. Ian absorbed that for a minute.

“You run away before?”

Mickey shrugged. He thought of all the times he and Mandy had packed bags, determined to get out once and for all. He thought of a broken nose when he was twelve that left him sleeping under the L for two nights before Terry hauled him back to the house by the scruff of his neck and gave him a broken wrist to go with it. He thought of his dad walking in and the crack of his pistol across Mickey’s skull and the smell of perfume filling his nose as Ian’s eyes filled with tears and—

Mickey’s fingernails were as ragged as his breathing and he bit his lip hard enough to taste blood.

“Mickey,” Ian said again. Mickey couldn’t meet his eyes, but he surged forward and pulled Ian in for a rough kiss, just like he had earlier today—and _Christ_ , that was just today. They bit and scratched at each other and Mickey yanked Ian’s belt off fast enough that it cracked in the air and made him flinch away instinctively.

“Slow down,” Ian murmured into the air between them.

“Fuck you,” Mickey growled back, biting down hard on Ian’s shoulder. Ian yelped a little, then gritted his teeth.

“Fine, you want it that way?” Ian panted. He shoved Mickey down on the bed and held him down with one hand while opening his pants with the other.

“Yeah,” Mickey said. “Fucking get to it. Quit being such a pussy.”

Ian shook his head, huffed an angry little breath, and shoved his fingers into Mickey’s mouth. Mickey bit him and Ian cursed, digging his elbow into Mickey’s ribs. Mickey groaned and spit Ian’s fingers out.

“Go,” he insisted. “Fucking do it.”

It was rough and painful and that was how Mickey liked it, hard and bruising because he didn’t do that slow emotional shit even if they _were_ face to face. His ass was still a little tender from the buckshot and he was pretty sure Ian’s ribs were still kind of fucked from Mickey kicking him a week ago or whenever it was, but they kept pushing at each other. But then somewhere along the way Ian’s bites against his neck turned into soft little kisses and Mickey’s breath started to hitch and his eyes started to burn.

“Mickey,” Ian whispered. At some point he’d tangled their fingers together and Mickey hadn’t even noticed, and now he squeezed Mickey’s fingers in his own and brought a hand up to brush through Mickey’s hair.

“Don’t fucking stop,” Mickey warned, clenching around Ian and making Ian whine, high-pitched and breathy.

“Okay,” Ian said, and he rolled his hips to accentuate his point. “I won’t.” But he pressed his forehead against Mickey’s and stroked his hand against Mickey’s face and Mickey choked out a few little gasps that might’ve been sobs, if he’d been the kind of person to sob.

Ian had slowed down to the point of being gentle and Mickey wanted to scream at him, wanted to shove him off, wanted to curl his legs around Ian and let Ian crawl inside him. Ian came with his face pressed against Mickey’s neck and Mickey came with tears on his cheeks.

Ian pulled out of him and rolled over, pulled Mickey with him so Mickey was cradled against his chest and Mickey was going to move away just as soon as he caught his breath and his hands stopped shaking.

“We’re gonna be okay,” Ian said, lips against Mickey’s temple. “I can just feel it.”

Mickey didn’t say anything back. There was nothing to say. He didn’t believe it for a second, but he was too tired to knock Ian’s hope down just then. He turned his head and let his lip graze over Ian’s jaw, not quite a kiss but as close as he could get at the moment, and he closed his eyes and tried to sleep.

Ian was awake at the fucking crack of dawn in the morning, sitting up and jostling the creaky fucking bed and waking Mickey up. Mickey groaned and pushed his face further into his pillow.

“Why are you awake?” He muttered.

“We should call Mandy.” Ian didn’t even sound _tired_.

“We can’t,” Mickey said.

“We have to!” Ian insisted. “We promised. And we can’t just _leave_ her there with that sick fuck.”

“It’s not safe yet,” Mickey said. “He’s gonna be watching her. She’ll let me know when it’s safe.” Ian’s jaw was clenched, but he didn’t argue. “You need to call your family?” Mickey asked.

“What’s there to say?” Ian asked. Mickey rolled over so he could look at Ian.

“You’re fucking obsessed with your family,” he pointed out. “You don’t care about worrying them?”

The smile Ian gave him was weird, not a real smile or at least not one Mickey had ever seen before. “What’s the point?”

“I don’t fucking know,” Mickey admitted. “My brothers disappear all the time and I don’t lose sleep over it. But your family’s different.”

Ian’s smile crumpled a little and he looked away. Shit. Mickey realized, finally, that Ian’s tough-guy routine was fronting for how bad he felt. Mickey couldn’t deal with that. He didn’t know how.

“Fiona just got us all back,” Ian said softly. “And I just left. Didn’t even tell anyone I was going or say goodbye.”

“Fuck,” Mickey muttered. He sat up and faced Ian, not sure what to say. “You gonna go back?”

Ian looked up, fast. “No,” he insisted. “Mickey, I’m staying with you.”

Mickey fought down the lump that wanted to form in his throat. “No one’s making you,” he said gruffly.

Ian tipped his head, assessing. “I’m the one who asked you,” he reminded Mickey, like Mickey would ever forget. “I’m the one who’s _always_ asking you.”

Mickey asked Ian over when he was in that group home, thank you very fucking much, but he figured that wasn’t really Ian’s point. And besides, Mickey didn’t really want to bring _that_ overnight excursion up, considering that was what got them into this mess in the first place.

“Just saying,” Mickey said, because he was terrible at letting things lie. “You wanna go back, fine. I’ll figure something out.”

Ian stared at him for a minute before reaching a tentative hand out. Mickey flinched, just a little, because he didn’t know where Ian’s hand was going. Ian didn’t hurt him, generally speaking, but a lifetime of backhands and sucker punches was written into Mickey’s instincts.

Ian wrapped his hand around Mickey’s ankle. It was a weird place to grab, and Mickey realized for all the touching they’d done, Ian had never touched his ankle. Maybe fleetingly, while he was shoving Mickey’s legs up onto his shoulders or something, but this light pressure, this gentle squeeze, was somehow more intimate than that. Mickey hated it even as he felt desperate for more of it.

“What I want,” Ian said quietly, “is to figure it out with you. I want to fuck you in a bed without worrying who’s at your house. I want to fuck you in a bed _every time_ we fuck. Except when I want to fuck you on the floor or in the bathroom or against the wall.”

Mickey was starting to kind of lose the thread of the conversation, all truth told, but Ian’s face wasn’t all riled up like he was about to make good on those mental images, so Mickey tried to focus.

“I want to wake up to your stupid grumpy face and your terrible breath because you passed out without brushing your teeth. I want to eat breakfast with you and come home to you.”

Mickey’s breath was coming fast, because this was a lot, this was too much. He needed to tell Ian to shut the fuck up with this gay bullshit, like they were a _couple_ , like it would be a known thing that they’d come home to each other at night.

Except he could see it now, since Ian had said it. Working some shitty job and begging off going out afterward because Ian was at home after _his_ shitty job. Arguing over what movie to watch and whose turn it was to go steal more beer. Getting mad because Ian finished off the rest of the weed without even giving him a hit. Kissing hello and goodbye and good morning and good night and any other time in between just because they wanted to kiss.

Mickey wanted it. It was the first time he’d thought about those kinds of things, at least consciously, and it scared the hell out of him how much he wanted it. It was like that kiss in the van opened up some kind of floodgate, and now he couldn’t stop wanting more. His lips ached because he wanted to kiss Ian.

But he couldn’t. And he couldn’t tell Ian he wanted it—he couldn’t even look Ian in the eye right then. Neither of them said anything for a long time, and Mickey just kept his eyes on the gross sheets and let himself feel Ian’s hand on his ankle.

“That’s what I want,” Ian finally reiterated.

Mickey nodded. It was all he could give Ian, just a mute nod. He hoped Ian got it. Ian seemed to understand him when he couldn’t find words, most of the time. Ian had laughed when Mickey had threatened him, a million years ago separated by glass, because Ian had known Mickey meant _I miss you, too_.

Things had changed, though. Mickey had spat _you’re nothing but a warm mouth_ less than a year ago, and Ian hadn’t visited Mickey once while he was in juvie that time, and Mickey had knocked up a hooker while Ian watched and Mickey was ten minutes away from marrying her before Ian dragged him away. Ian had tried to get Mickey to admit how he felt and Mickey had beat the shit out of him.

Maybe Ian didn’t know anymore. Maybe Ian believed Mickey’s tough words or no words at all. Maybe Ian would decide Mickey wasn’t worth missing his family. Mickey’s throat wanted to close up on him at the thought of Ian leaving. Mickey was barely holding it together as it was, fear still swirling around his guts and keeping a firm, cold grip on his heart, and if Ian left Mickey wouldn’t have anything left.

He was going to fucking hyperventilate. All he could see was Terry’s pistol coming down at him again and again. If Ian left, Terry would find Mickey, and he’d really kill him this time. Mickey couldn’t hide forever, definitely not on his own.

Mickey jumped a little when Ian’s hand tightened around his ankle. Ian stroked his thumb up and down the bump there, traced over the scar Mickey’d gotten from a dog bite when he was thirteen.

“Good,” Ian murmured. Mickey almost wanted to cry. Ian heard it. Mickey couldn’t say a word, but Ian heard him.

 

Ian went out for food and came back with a job. Mickey didn’t know how the fuck he did shit like that, except maybe his sad Disney princess routine worked on everyone else in the world. It didn’t work on Mickey.

Well. Not every time.

“A job where?” Mickey asked as Ian shoved fries in his mouth. The Milkovich house was all division and separate shares and wars breaking out over stealing food. The Gallaghers were apparently communal eaters. Ian didn’t bother portioning out fries or moving Mickey’s burger into a different box. He took fries with abandon and even took a bite of Mickey’s burger, _just to taste_. If it was one of his brothers, Mickey would’ve punched him in the dick, but he was pretty attached to Ian’s dick, so he just scowled in a way that made Ian grin.

“At this diner,” Ian said, gesturing at the food. “Some lady was freaking out while I was waiting for the food, kept saying she had a hair in her sandwich and wanted to sue. I just talked to her for a second and got her to shut up, and the manager came out and asked if I wanted a job.”

Mickey shook his head. “Must be from all the times you talked fucking Linda off a ledge,” he said, slapping Ian’s hand away from the fries before he ate every last one of them.

Ian laughed. “Maybe. Anyway, I found a free paper outside, so you could start looking, too. And we can go check out apartments. We won’t have enough for a security deposit or anything for a while, but we can feel out the neighborhoods.”

The food all turned to lead in Mickey’s stomach. Ian was just so nonchalant about all this and it made Mickey feel like puking. Ian thought the world was all roses and hearts instead of the shit it really was. He may have forgotten Terry trying to kill them, but Mickey never would.

“How the fuck we gonna get an apartment?” Mickey barked. “We’ll never be able to afford a two-bedroom.”

Ian gave him a look like he was being weird. “We don’t need a two-bedroom.”

“You think I’m letting some fucking landlord think we’re fucking?”

“We _are_ fucking,” Ian reminded him in an overly condescending tone that sounded irritatingly reminiscent of Lip.

“Oh, sure, let’s just go around telling everyone that,” Mickey snapped. “Great idea. Like people finding out isn’t what got us here.” Ian frowned and picked at a seed on his burger, but he didn’t say anything. It only gave Mickey the opportunity to build up steam. “And why don’t you look up the next fucking queer parade, huh? We can go march down the middle of the road holding hands and carrying a big sign that says _kill me, I’m a fag_. I always wanted to get beat to death. You think we’ll pass out before they splatter our brains on the sidewalk?”

“Okay, Jesus,” Ian interrupted. “Shut the fuck up. I get it. You’d rather stay in this shithole for the rest of our lives than let anyone even _think_ we might be together.”

“I’m trying to make the rest of our lives last more than two fucking weeks!” Mickey shot back defensively. He genuinely could not fathom how Ian wasn’t getting this or why Ian was getting so pissed at him. Ian wasn’t saying anything, but Mickey could tell he was getting pissed from the way his face was getting all red and pinched up.

Ian said, “You’re being unreasonable.”

_Unreasonable._ Like there was any sort of reason to any of this, like reason mattered when Mickey saw Ian and immediately wanted to unzip his pants or—even worse— _hold his fucking hand_. Like they could calmly talk to Terry and make him understand. Like the laws of the world didn’t apply to Ian fucking Gallagher and he could do whatever he wanted.

“You’re being fucking stupid,” Mickey said.

“Lotta guys share rooms, Mick,” Ian said, frustrated. “Guys who aren’t fucking. We’re young and getting a place of our own. It’s not that suspicious.”

“Someone’ll find out.”

“How?” Ian yelled.

“They’ll _see_ ,” Mickey burst out. “When you’re around I get stupid and I can’t think about anything but you and I’ll do something that’ll get you killed.”

He hadn’t really meant to say that. Or maybe he’d meant to say he’d do something that would get himself killed. He didn’t actually know what he’d meant to say, but he definitely hadn’t meant to say he couldn’t think about anything other than Ian.

Ian looked at him, just stared like he’d been doing more and more lately, like he was reading through some Mickey Milkovich Manual in his head and trying to figure out what all this shit meant. “Not everyone’s your dad,” he finally said softly.

“You know there’s more people like my family than yours,” Mickey said tiredly. Ian didn’t deny it. After all, he’d been pretending to be Mandy’s boyfriend for years to stay safe.

The room felt too quiet now that they weren’t yelling at each other. Mickey was still just in his boxers, sitting in the rumpled sheets. Ian pulled the box of food out of Mickey’s hands and set it on the ground. He crawled onto the bed and lay down next to Mickey, tugging Mickey down to the mattress with him.

“Hey,” he said. “You’re scared.”

Mickey snorted. Understatement of the fucking year. But it also made him mad. Yeah, he was fucking scared. Of course he was. “You don’t fucking scare me,” he snarled. It was a complete lie. Ian scared the shit out of Mickey for a million reasons.

Ian sighed and rested his head against Mickey’s. “I know I don’t,” he said. “But everyone else does.”

“Oh, excuse me for not wanting to fucking die.”

“I know,” Ian said quietly. “But don’t you want to fucking live?”

That was some deep philosophical shit Mickey couldn’t wrap his head around. He looked away and didn’t say anything. They stayed like that for a minute until Mickey could breathe again. He licked his lips.

“Let’s wait to decide anything until we know if I can even get a fucking job,” he said. His voice came out a little thin, but at least it didn’t shake. Ian rewarded him with a dazzling grin, like Mickey had done something great.

“Sure,” he said happily, because he knew he’d won. Mickey would do pretty much anything to keep Ian around, and Ian knew it now. Meeting him at the Kash and Grab after Monica came into town way back at the start of this should’ve been his first clue. The kiss in the van showed it a little more. But running away together, agreeing to even think about getting an apartment—Mickey was whipped, and Ian could tell.

“Shut the fuck up,” Mickey grumbled. “Gimme back my fries.”

Ian laughed, loud and happy, and Mickey pressed his face into his pillow to hide his smile.


	2. Chapter 2

“I moved here with my friend,” Mickey said. He and Ian were sitting cross-legged on the bed, practicing this lie together. Ian didn’t see why this was so important, but Mickey wouldn’t let it drop. They needed to practice telling this lie so they’d be ready if it came up in conversation. Mickey didn’t anticipate it happening to him, but Ian would probably make friends at work.

“I moved here with my best friend,” Ian said back.

Mickey narrowed his eyes. “Stop making it more specific. People just ask more questions.”

“But it’s true,” Ian said stubbornly. It made something equal parts painful and soothing burn in Mickey’s chest. _Best friend_. Mickey had never been anyone’s best anything. He’d never even been anyone’s friend, period. The two together were overwhelming, and he had to take a second to press his lips to the hinge of Ian’s jaw. He was getting better at kissing, at remembering just the good part of that night at his house, when they sat side-by-side on the couch and ignored the movie and kissed and kissed and kissed until Mickey thought his lungs would give out. If Mickey didn’t think about the morning, that was the best night he’d ever lived at that point.

Mickey had had better nights since. Since he ran off with Ian. Since they started sharing a bed every night. Since Ian started kissing him goodnight and hanging onto him all night long. Since they started falling asleep talking and laughing about whatever the fuck they thought up. Since he could wake up in the middle of the night and roll over to see Ian’s face lit by the streetlamps outside and listen to his steady breathing.

When Ian was sleeping, anyway; more often, these days, Mickey would wake up from some nightmare and Ian would be cleaning the bathroom or rearranging their three sweatshirts in the closet or drawing up plans for living room furniture it would take them years to save up for, assuming they ever even got enough cash together to move out of this shitty motel. A few times, Mickey had woken up alone and Ian was just gone, not anywhere in their tiny room. Mickey’d gone completely batshit with worry, thinking Ian left him or maybe something happened to him. Then Ian would just come in like he didn’t have a care in the world, saying he woke up in the middle of the night and wanted to explore the city. Mickey didn’t know what the fuck was going on with Ian these days.

“Say it again,” Mickey told him, just to stop thinking about the uneasiness he always got when he woke up to Ian like that, the weird glint in Ian’s eyes that Mickey didn’t know how to read, the frenzied way he moved these days.

“You’re my best friend,” Ian said, guileless and sweet like he’d always been.

Mickey huffed. “I meant the part about moving with your friend.”

Ian laughed. “I guess I just got distracted by you.” He gave Mickey a big, stupid wink and said, “You’re very distracting.”

Mickey laughed despite himself. “Come on, Gallagher,” he groaned, trying to cover up the way his stomach fluttered when Ian did stupid shit like that. “We gotta practice this. One good lie can be the difference between dying and living.”

Ian sighed. But he didn’t argue. Sometimes he remembered all the reasons he’d let Mandy shield him for so long and wised up a little. He sat up straighter and repeated dutifully, “I moved here with my friend.”

“Why’d you do that?” Mickey asked, playing the part of nosy fucking coworker.

Ian snorted. “I don’t think anyone’s going to interrogate me. They’d probably ask it a little nicer.”

Mickey rolled his eyes. “What the fuck ever. Gimme your story.”

“We both just needed a change,” Ian said with a shrug that was so obviously fake-nonchalant. “My friend’s family is a nightmare and I wanted to get him out of there.”

“No,” Mickey said right away. “That’s too much for a friend.”

“Mickey, it really isn’t,” Ian tried to assure him. He was trying to be gentle, but there was no way he didn’t know Mickey wasn’t exactly practiced in friendship. “People protect their friends all the time.”

“Not like this,” Mickey argued. “People are fucking nosy, okay? You say my family’s a nightmare, they want details. Then what? You can’t say your friend’s dad walked in on you with your dick in his ass and then beat the shit out of you and tried to make him marry a pregnant whore.”

Ian sighed. There was aggravation lurking in his eyes, but Mickey knew he was escaping it by mentioning that day with Terry. Ian never pushed. Not since the day at the building, not since Mickey kicked the shit out of him for pushing.

Mickey was suddenly swallowing down bile. He’d done that. He’d hurt Ian, _really_ hurt him. He could’ve done permanent damage.

“Mick?” Ian ventured. He could sense Mickey’s mood had just shifted dramatically. Ian could always read Mickey.

“I’m sorry,” Mickey choked out. “I beat the shit out of you.”

Ian’s forehead wrinkled up while he tried to figure out what Mickey was talking about. “Huh? This another dream you think is real?” He was joking about it, but Mickey felt like he was going to puke.

“I beat the shit out of you,” Mickey repeated. “You said I—” Mickey couldn’t even repeat it. Not even here, in their own little room with the chain on the door, not even now, after running away together and living all shacked up for a month. Mickey couldn’t do it. “At the building. After.”

Mickey could see the moment it clicked for Ian. His shoulders slumped. “Mickey.”

“It didn’t make me feel better,” Mickey blurted. His tongue wasn’t all the way loose, not the way it should’ve been, but at least he was saying some things. He figured he better say as much as he could while it lasted, before his teeth clenched up tight again and hid all the words he was thinking.

“I know it didn’t,” Ian said softly. He entwined their fingers and gave Mickey’s hand a little squeeze. “I pushed too hard.”

It was true, really. Ian probably should’ve known better by then, should’ve known Mickey couldn’t take poking and prodding like that when his bruises hadn’t even faded. There was one time, earlier in the summer before any kisses, before the old fucking pedo came around, when they were in the freezer and Ian tugged at Mickey’s shirt to find him black and blue all over his ribs. It wasn’t new; undressing Mickey was often like revealing the aftermath of some sick paint-by-number. Mickey could always retrace his father’s steps by looking at his own skin.

“What the fuck’s all this?” Ian had demanded, hands ghosting over Mickey’s skin. The cold air in the freezer made goosebumps break out on top of the bruises.

“What the fuck’s it look like?” Mickey had snapped back.

“Mickey, he can’t keep doing this to you,” Ian had said, all fired up with righteous anger. Ian always thought he knew how the world worked, because he’d grown up poor with shitty, drug-addled parents. The thing was, though, Ian had all those fucking siblings who gave a shit about each other, and Frank wasn’t much for fighting. He’d bluster and bullshit and then inevitably slink away. He wasn’t a guy who carried out his own dirty work. Mickey knew he’d taken some swings at Ian a time or two, mostly when Ian was smaller and weaker, but Frank was nothing, not in the grand scheme of things. Ian didn’t seem to get that, though. Ian thought Frank counted in this kind of discussion.

“What the fuck am I supposed to do?” Mickey had asked. “What, you think I should call the cops? Think they’re gonna do shit for me?”

Ian had leaned over and pressed his lips so gently to the bruises. It was soft and it was too much; it was painful and jagged like he’d broken another one of Mickey’s ribs. “I don’t like that he hurts you,” Ian had said, all doe-eyed and sad. “I don’t like anyone hurting you. You’re too important for that.”

Mickey had exploded, jumping away from Ian so fast it hurt. “Jesus, Gallagher, can we go one fucking day without you trying to fucking marry me? You think this shit _matters_? This is fucking nothing. I’ll go home and get worse tomorrow. I’m fucking important? Jesus fuck, you’re so fucking stupid.” He’d shoved past Ian to stalk back out of the freezer.

They hadn’t fucked for days after that, hadn’t even looked at each other, until Mickey had slunk back, tail between his legs. He hadn’t apologized or anything, of course, but he’d unbuckled Ian’s belt right there at the counter before walking over to lock the door, so Ian had understood an apology in that anyway.

But Mickey saw it all differently now. Maybe getting away from Terry did that. Maybe kissing Ian did it. From the second Mickey pressed his lips to Ian for that fleeting second in the van, nothing in Mickey’s brain had been the same. It was like Ian transferred a sliver of his optimism to Mickey. A kiss-transmitted brain rot.

“It wasn’t your fault,” Mickey said quietly. “It was mine.”

“It was _his_ ,” Ian corrected fiercely, and Mickey didn’t have any breath or any words to say anything back. Mickey shrugged. After a beat of silence, Ian put his hand on Mickey’s cheek and murmured, “Thank you.”

“For what?” Mickey asked hollowly.

“For apologizing,” Ian said. “And for coming with me. I thought you were gonna…” He shook his head. “If you’d married her, I don’t know what I would’ve done.”

Mickey swallowed hard. He could still smell the whore’s perfume sometimes. Some of his nightmares were a warm weight on his lap, but then he’d open his eyes and it wasn’t Ian, it was her, with his dad looming behind her, with blood running into Ian’s eyes. Then he’d wake up for real, sweating and gasping, and Ian would murmur sleepily and roll closer, and Mickey’s heart would start to settle.

“I don’t either,” Mickey whispered. “Think I would’ve blown my brains out.”

Ian made a little noise in the back of his throat. “Don’t say that.”

Mickey shrugged. “Probably would’ve.”

Ian sighed. “Well. Good thing we ran away then, huh?”

Mickey looked at him for a second, at the way the weak sun coming through their window was falling across his face and making his hair look like a fire, at the freckles spread out across his bare shoulders, at the little smile on his face while he thought about their new life together. Mickey made himself squeeze Ian’s hand, returning the pressure Ian had given him a minute ago. A kind of Morse code, just for them.

“Yeah,” Mickey said, feeling like he couldn’t quite get a full breath. Ian had no idea what he did to Mickey, had no idea what he could get Mickey to do. “Good thing.”

  


“And I was like, _you’re the one who asked me,_ you know?” Abdi asked for about the fourth time. Mickey nodded again. He still didn’t actually know what Abdi was talking about. Luckily the cargo hold was empty, so he headed back inside.

He’d been working for the airline doing cargo for almost two months now and Abdi was assigned as his trainer. Like Mickey needed someone to teach him how to throw a fucking suitcase onto a cart. Abdi was okay, even though he never stopped talking. He talked more than Ian, which Mickey would’ve thought was impossible. He was working cargo to put himself through college or something. He’d told Mickey like ten times, but Mickey never really paid attention.

“Twenty more minutes,” Abdi said cheerfully. “Got big plans for your day off tomorrow?”

Mickey made some kind of noncommittal noise. He and Ian were moving into their apartment, but he wasn’t telling Abdi that. He’d never told Abdi anything except _that suitcase is fucking heavy_.

“I’m going out with Angelina again this weekend,” Abdi said proudly.

“Isn’t that the chick you’ve been bitching about all day?” Mickey couldn’t help but ask. It wasn’t like he was really listening, but he’d heard the name about five thousand times.

“Yeah, man, but you should _see_ this girl!” Abdi crowed. “Hey, I’m sure she’s got a friend or something. Want me to hook you up?”

“No thanks,” Mickey said, grabbing the log sheet.

“You got someone?” Abdi asked curiously. Mickey just grunted. “What’s her name?” Abdi pressed. “Got a picture?”

“None of your business,” Mickey said, flipping the logbook shut. “We done here? We don’t got anything else on the schedule.”

“Oh,” Abdi said, glancing at the clock. “Yeah, okay. See you Saturday.”

“Bye.” Mickey felt a little bad for being an asshole, which was a new kind of feeling, so he called over his shoulder, “Don’t just give in to that bitch. Make her work for it.”

Abdi laughed and flipped him off and Mickey felt better. Of fucking course it started to rain while he was waiting for the bus, and when the bus finally came it was so full he got off two blocks early and just got completely drenched rather than deal with being packed in like a sardine. Anyone could’ve knifed him on there and he wouldn’t have been able to do a damn thing about it.

He squelched his way past Patty, the check-in lady, who saluted him with her joint. He ignored her, like he always did. He dripped all the way up the stairs and got to the room they’d been calling “home” for almost four months.

Ian’s face lit up when he saw Mickey come in, and it still made Mickey’s stomach flutter just like the first time he came in and saw it happen.

“Hi,” Ian said happily. Mickey didn’t answer, but he came over to the bed and buried his face in Ian’s neck. Ian smelled like grease and onion rings and a little hint of coffee, just like always. “How was work?” Ian asked, running a hand up and down Mickey’s back. “Need a back massage?”

“Well, I won’t say no,” Mickey laughed.

“I packed,” Ian informed him.

Mickey shot him a skeptical look. “You mean you threw all our shit in your duffle again? What if I need that shit tonight?”

Ian rolled his eyes. “I left your toothbrush out, you’re going to wear the same clothes tomorrow, and we’re not even going to _pretend_ you wear anything to sleep in.”

Mickey shrugged. Ian wasn’t wrong on any part. Ian’s phone, on the table, started buzzing. Ian’s lips flattened out, so Mickey knew the person—or people—calling had probably been calling all day. Not for the first time.

“You gonna answer?” Mickey asked quietly. He let himself run a hand through Ian’s hair.

Ian blew out a breath. “No.”

“Ian.”

“It’s fine,” Ian said. “Drop it.”

Mickey raised his eyebrows, but he did drop it. He wasn’t going to fucking force anything out of Ian. It didn’t take a rocket scientist to know it was Ian’s family calling. If he didn’t want to talk to them, what did Mickey care?

Except Mickey got out of the shower and Ian was still just sitting there on the bed, jaw clenched, and _that_ didn’t take a rocket scientist to know Ian was upset. A few months ago, that was Mickey’s cue to leave. Now he was stuck.

Well, alright. He could admit to himself that maybe _stuck_ wasn’t exactly the right phrase for how he felt about this whole situation.

But he didn’t know what to say, how to tell Ian he should talk to his family so he’d feel better. Instead, Mickey lay down on the bed on his stomach and let Ian give him a back massage that stayed PG for approximately forty seconds, which was actually probably a record for them. It was a combination of Mickey always feeling weird about Ian being nice to him and their general horniness.

“Call that a back massage?” Mickey huffed teasingly when they were done. “Think you need an anatomy lesson, man.”

“That an offer?” Ian shot back, grinning. He took Mickey’s cigarette and Mickey let him have it because he was feeling generous. Maybe that was what loosened his tongue.

“You should talk to your family.” The words dropped out of his mouth without much input from his brain. Ian’s face went dark and he shoved the cigarette back at Mickey before rolling off the bed.

“You’re one to fucking talk,” he muttered as he yanked his boxers on.

“Yeah, ‘cause our families are the same,” Mickey snorted. “They care what happens to you.”

“So why bother talking to them?” Ian hissed. “I’m not going back.”

“Least let ‘em know you’re alive!” Mickey said.

“If they didn’t think I was alive, they wouldn’t call,” Ian said. “My phone’s still on, so they know it’s not broken or anything like that.”

“People care if you live or die, you know,” Mickey said, voice quiet. “Shouldn’t take that for granted.”

Ian blew out a long breath. “People care if you live or die, too.”

“You’re one person. One person isn’t people,” Mickey pointed out, tentatively reaching out a hand for Ian. He could see Ian arguing with himself—on the one hand, he was pissed at Mickey, but on the other, Mickey was offering some actual comfort _and_ acknowledging that Ian cared about him. He knew Ian wouldn’t pass up an opportunity like that. Ian sighed a little and crossed back to the bed again, standing between Mickey’s legs. Mickey put his hands on Ian’s hips, like he would if he were blowing him. Maybe he would be later.

“I know they’re just going to ask where I am,” Ian said, running his fingers through Mickey’s hair. That kind of shit didn’t even make Mickey flinch anymore. He practically pressed into the touch like a cat. “And I can’t tell them.”

They’d agreed not to tell anyone where they were yet. Even if they swore everyone to secrecy, the secret would get out. Mickey had at least _some_ tact, so he didn’t point out that it would definitely be Ian’s family to spill it. Gallaghers all had big fucking mouths and they never stopped talking. Ian was still skeptical Terry would come that far to find them, but Mickey wasn’t. And even though Ian didn’t think it would happen, he was smart enough to know they shouldn’t risk it. Mickey didn’t want to tell anyone where they were, anyway. It was nice, just being here alone. Just the two of them. He couldn’t say that to Ian, because someday Ian would want to tell his siblings where to find them, and because Mickey didn’t know how to say that without sounding like the world’s lamest pussy, but he liked having Ian all to himself.

Still, though, he knew Ian missed his family. Ian had had a tough time at Christmas. Mickey had barely even realized what day it was, but Ian had locked himself in the bathroom for two hours and then came out with puffy, red eyes. Mickey fucking hated it. Caring about someone else fucking sucked.

“But don’t you want to know if they’re okay?” Mickey asked. He knew Ian did. Ian talked about it all the fucking time—was Lip enrolling in college, did Fiona keep her office job, was Liam talking more, did Carl stab anyone, were any more pedos creeping Debbie out on the bus. Mickey knew more about the Gallagher family now than he ever did living two blocks away.

Ian bent almost in half and rested his face against the top of Mickey’s head. “I think it’ll hurt more to talk to them,” he said, voice muffled in Mickey’s hair.

“Okay,” Mickey said. “Fine. Just…” He shrugged. “You’re all sad about it.”

He could feel Ian smiling against his skin. “You don’t like when I’m sad, huh?”

“No, you get all mopey and shit and you don’t want to fuck.”

Ian snorted. “First of all, I never don’t want to fuck. And second, you care if I’m sad.”

“Fuck off,” Mickey scoffed. “I don’t give a shit.”

Ian pushed him so he toppled backward onto the bed and climbed on top of him. “Yeah?” Ian asked. “You sure about that?”

“I don’t give a shit,” Mickey repeated, but he was a lot more breathless this time.

“How about now?” Ian asked, grinding down against him, and Mickey couldn’t help but writhe a little, trying to get closer.

“No,” he said, but he was really having trouble remembering what he was protesting.

“Come on, Mick, say it,” Ian whispered a half inch from Mickey’s ear, breath hot against Mickey’s skin. Mickey swallowed hard.

“What?”

“Say you care,” Ian ordered, eyebrows raised triumphantly.

“Fuck, come on, Gallagher,” Mickey huffed. “Just get on me.”

“Not until you say it.”

“Fine, okay, I fucking care,” Mickey growled. Ian’s smile went all smug but his eyes went soft and Mickey had to look away. He just couldn’t take all that sometimes. Knowing Ian’s mood could depend on what he said and did. Knowing Ian wanted to hear that kind of shit. Mickey was doing his best here, what with the fucking running out on his wedding and getting a job and sticking around this shitty motel thing, but he could always tell Ian was looking for more. And the scariest part was, Mickey was starting to want to give it to him.

They didn’t actually fuck again, because Mickey’s back really was sore from working, but he blew Ian because it was still on his mind. Once Mickey started thinking about sucking Ian’s dick, it was hard to think about anything else until he did it. He could imagine the kind of shit his dad would say if he knew that, if he knew about the way Mickey’s mouth fucking _watered_ when he thought about Ian’s cock, but what the fuck ever. Terry wasn’t here in the room with them. It wasn’t like Ian was complaining about how much Mickey loved sucking him off, so Mickey wasn’t going to spend a lot of time beating himself up over it.

Mickey knew he was different now, even after just a few months. The longer they stayed here, the longer they were away from Terry and anyone else who might know about them, the longer they were alone in their bubble of fucking and kissing and sleeping all wrapped up together and waking up to each other’s faces, the more Mickey relaxed. He let himself touch Ian more, let himself just look sometimes. It wasn’t that he’d never wanted to do that shit before, to pin Ian down and kiss him for hours or count all the freckles on the bridge of his nose or watch the little shimmy he did when he was shaking out his hips before he went for a run. But Mickey never could, not when every second he had with Ian was stolen, not when Terry was always looming over them.

Mickey thought about Terry less every day. Sometimes he woke up in the middle of the night sweating about that. He couldn’t drop his guard. If he wasn’t careful, if he wasn’t _ready_ , they could both die, and he wasn’t willing to let that happen. Not now.

For the first month and a half they were here, Mickey hadn’t slept longer than an hour at a time. He’d woken up to every sound, every passing car outside. He was on edge constantly, worrying about Terry. Ian got his job right away, but then they had to go find someone to get them fake IDs. Ian wasn’t eighteen yet, and that could cause problems. They both got their IDs saying they were twenty-one, because Mickey figured if they were getting fake ones anyway they might as well be able to go to a bar sometimes. Not every bar was like the Alibi and it wasn’t like they had an inside guy to let them in anywhere. It took some bartering to get the IDs, because Mickey wasn’t willing to part with any of their cash until they knew they’d be able to get more, but all it took was him bashing some skulls for the guy who sold the IDs.

Mickey didn’t ask why the guys needed a beating. That was never a question he bothered asking.

Mickey worked for the ID guy for a while, hired muscle and intimidation. But Ian hated that he was out all night, and he hated thinking Mickey could get fucking stabbed or something and no one would know to tell Ian about it. So Mickey found the cargo job at the airport, and sometimes he and Ian went down to the rich part of town with a bunch of law offices in it and stole wallets off rich guys in fancy suits. It wasn’t Ian’s favorite way to get money, but Mickey figured it was fine since they could afford to lose their credit cards. None of them even realized their wallets were gone, at least not while Ian and Mickey were getting away.

They didn’t save up a _lot_ of money in three and a half months. The apartment they got was a total shithole, in a part of town where cop cars and ambulances were never far away, but they were both used to that, and rent was way cheaper than in Chicago so they actually _could_ swing a two-bedroom like Mickey insisted they had to. Ian found some place doing a promotion with the first month’s rent for free, so all they had to pay was the deposit and last month’s rent. They got it. They were moving in the morning. They had a _place,_ just for them, together.

When Mickey woke up in the morning, Ian was already up, scribbling on a yellow, crumbling motel notepad. Mickey rubbed his eyes. “You sleep at all?” They fucked twice last night and then Ian sucked Mickey’s dick another time. When Mickey fell into what was basically a sex coma, Ian was still awake, sniffing at the meager contents of their mini-fridge and throwing out anything that wasn’t worth hauling over to the new place.

“Yeah,” Ian said. “Just woke up and realized I should make a list of stuff we’ll need when we get there.”

“Like what?” Mickey asked. He propped himself onto his elbows and looked over to where the ancient coffeemaker was crammed onto the bathroom sink, but it wasn’t on.

“Trash bags, trash _can_ , paper towels, toilet paper, beer, food, lube, soap, shampoo, towels, dishes, cleaning stuff—”

“We don’t need _all_ that,” Mickey interrupted.

Ian looked up from his list and raised his eyebrows. “What do you think we don’t need? Lube?”

Mickey huffed. “No, fuck you, I’m not gonna argue against that. But why would we need toilet paper _and_ paper towels? They do the same fucking thing.”

Ian wrinkled up his nose at him in disbelief. “You want to wipe your ass with paper towels?”

Mickey shrugged. “So?”

“So it’s gonna tear up your ass and then _I_ can’t tear up your ass.”

That made Mickey laugh a little, mostly against his will. “Well, fine, then just get toilet paper.”

“And what would we use to wipe up spills? Toilet paper just falls apart.”

Mickey shrugged again. “Wipe up spills?” He asked.

Ian set down the notepad and pen and crawled back over to the center of the bed. He nudged in close to Mickey and pressed a kiss to the side of his face. It was so dumb, but it made Mickey almost start blushing. “Mickey,” Ian said quietly. “We are not living in a fucking flophouse like you grew up in.”

Part of Mickey wanted to argue that point, say it wasn’t that bad, except he knew it was. His house was worse than this fucking disgusting motel. And for Ian, who grew up in a house that was always messy but still mostly _clean_ under the mess, the Milkovich house was probably beyond disgusting. Mickey swallowed hard. He never would’ve been embarrassed by that before, but now there was something hot in his stomach like shame.

“Okay,” he mumbled.

“Hey,” Ian said. He put a knuckle under Mickey’s chin and tilted his head up so they were eye-to-eye. “This is going to be _our_ place, right? For us. We can do whatever we want with it. It’s going to be clean because we want it clean.”

“I don’t give a fuck if it’s clean,” Mickey said, but it was pretty half-hearted. Ian wasn’t a clean freak or anything, but he was way cleaner than Mickey was used to. And Mickey had to admit it was kind of nice. This place didn’t have a maid or anything, but Ian went down to the storage closet in the lobby once a week and got the vacuum and the bleach and cleaned the room, and Mickey always felt a little better after it was cleaner.

“We got a shithole,” Ian admitted. “But we’re gonna make it good. It’s _ours_ , Mick.” He grinned at Mickey, bright and beautiful and hopeful, and Mickey felt shaky at the sight of it. But his own face pulled up in a smile in response. He couldn’t help it.

“Ours,” Mickey echoed. He felt weirdly guilty saying that, like it was some kind of illicit secret. Technically, it probably was, since Ian was still only seventeen, but Mickey knew the pit in his stomach was more about the _us_ part than the law. It felt wrong to do this, to have this, scary and dangerous.

But then Ian leaned in and kissed him again, excited about their own place, their names on the lease, proof that they were doing this, and Mickey couldn’t focus on any of the bad feelings.

 

“Okay,” Ian said. “Guess what I saw on my run this morning?” Mickey was hardly even awake yet and Ian came bouncing in all sweaty and shiny. Mickey sat up in bed, rubbing his eyes. What counted for a bed was a mattress they’d stolen from the motel when they knew Patty had slunk off to do God knew what in the alley around the corner. They’d just pushed it into a corner of their room, but they actually bought new sheets because Ian insisted on them having their own and Mickey didn’t hate the idea. There was something kind of alluring about knowing no one’s jizz but theirs was on their sheets.

“What?” Mickey asked, scratching the side of his face.

“No, guess!” Ian insisted.

“Fuck off,” Mickey grumbled. He wasn’t into that guessing shit anyway, but being bombarded first thing when he woke up was not making him any more amenable to it. Ian cracked up laughing at him.

“Okay, fine, grumpy,” Ian said. “I saw a sign for a garage sale! We can go see what they have.”

“Why would we want someone else’s old shit?” Mickey asked.

“Because we don’t have any money and maybe they’ll have some furniture. Or like…stuff you use for cooking.”

“Like what?” Mickey asked.

“Well, I don’t know. I’ve never really been into cooking. But we could start! We could make our own muffins. I saw a recipe online.”

Mickey flopped back on the mattress, groaning with his hands over his face. “I don’t give a fuck about muffins.”

“If we get really good, we can sell them,” Ian said. “You know those muffins you can get out of vending machines? We could get in on that.”

Mickey pulled his hands away from his face specifically so Ian could see the unbridled scorn there. “What the hell are you talking about? You want to become a muffin baker?”

“Come on, it could be great!” Ian said. “Think about it. Being our own bosses. Working together! Getting rich.”

“Yeah, I bet a business we start in our tiny-ass kitchen, making muffins for the first time in our entire lives, is sure to be a real cash cow,” Mickey said sarcastically. He rolled over. “God, let me sleep.”

“Nope,” Ian said. “I’m coming in.”

“Don’t—” Mickey started quickly, but it was too late. Ian launched himself through the air and landed on Mickey. “Fuck,” Mickey gasped, winded and laughing. Ian always thought that was the best way to wake Mickey up. He always just rolled his eyes when Mickey pointed out waking up to fucking was a much better option.

“Come on, Mick,” Ian sang out, digging his fingers into Mickey’s ribs and making him squeal like a girl. “Time to get up.”

“Leave me the fuck alone,” Mickey protested, totally unable to clamp down on his smile.

“Never,” Ian breathed, flipping Mickey over so they were face to face. Ian was grinning at him and Mickey couldn’t help but laugh. “We’re going to this garage sale.”

“Oh, we are?” Mickey challenged. “Well, what about this?” He grabbed Ian’s shoulders and twisted his legs around Ian to flip them so he was on top. They wrestled around for a while, laughing and gasping, until they were grinding against each other more than anything.

“I want a couch,” Ian said breathlessly as Mickey tugged at his shirt.

“Fine, whatever,” Mickey said. “Take this off.” Ian obliged and then shimmied out of his sweats, too. Mickey was already hard and he groaned a little when Ian brought his dick out. “ _Good_ morning,” Mickey said.

Ian laughed at him. “This is all you needed to get up?”

“Yeah, I’m definitely up,” Mickey agreed, making Ian laugh again. Mickey pushed Ian down and slid down his body, and Ian stopped laughing for a little bit.

Fucking on a mattress on the floor reminded Mickey of something. “I guess if they had like…a headboard or something,” he mumbled out while they were catching their breath, passing a cigarette back and forth. Ian blinked, and then he snorted and grinned over at Mickey.

“Need something to hang onto?” He guessed, eyebrows raised.

Mickey shrugged, feeling himself blushing a little. “Yeah. You know. Won’t be as likely to bash my head into the wall.”

Ian pulled Mickey closer and kissed him. Mickey used to make these half-hearted protests when Ian did stuff like that; he wanted to kiss Ian, but he felt like he still had to act like he didn’t. It didn’t really make sense, considering they’d run away together and all these kisses had happened in the privacy of a motel room with a locked door, but still. Mickey had felt like he needed to preserve some semblance of his old personality, maybe.

He didn’t know when he’d stopped doing that. Maybe around the time they got this apartment a month ago. It just seemed pointless and stupid to pretend he didn’t want it when he was bursting inside every time Ian looked his way. There was no one here to call him a fag or a pussy over it. Ian certainly wasn’t going to. Mickey just got tired of the game. He was even starting to initiate kisses, and not just desperate ones between a fight and a fuck.

He liked it. He liked the way Ian’s lips ticked up in a smile when Mickey walked in the door and made a beeline for his mouth. And he liked that Ian wasn’t surprised by it anymore. If he thought about it too long, it made him feel shaky and scared, so he just didn’t think about it. He went with his gut and kissed Ian when he wanted to and ignored the voice in the back of his head that sounded an awful lot like his father.

“How do you plan on getting a couch back to the place?” Mickey realized as they were walking down the sidewalk. He put his hands on his hips and stopped walking.

“Sometimes you can pay extra and they’ll bring it over,” Ian said, unconcerned.

“No one’s coming to our place,” Mickey protested. “They can’t come in. There’s only one bed!”

Ian rolled his eyes. “Not like they’re going to look around, Mick,” he said. “They’d just be dropping off a couch.”

“How far is it?” Mickey asked. “We could probably carry it.”

Now Ian put his hands on his hips. “You’d rather carry a couch ten blocks than let someone bring it to us?”

“Yeah,” Mickey said easily. “Ten blocks? That’s nothing.”

“Oh my God,” Ian said, frustrated. “So, what’s your plan here, Mickey? We’re just gonna hide out forever? Never get to have any friends, never see our families again? Hole up in our apartment and fuck and never talk to anyone else ever again?”

That didn’t sound like a bad idea to Mickey at all, but Ian obviously didn’t agree. Mickey glanced around quickly to make sure no one heard Ian talk about them fucking, and that made Ian mad, too. He scoffed disgustedly and took off walking down the street again, not even looking back to check if Mickey was coming.

“Oh, come on, Gallagher,” Mickey snapped. He started walking, too, but he refused to rush to catch up to Ian. “Don’t be such a dramatic little girl.”

“I’m not being a dramatic girl,” Ian shot back hotly over his shoulder. “You’re the one being so dramatic. You think everyone walking down the street is trying to kill us or something.”

“Yeah,” Mickey said. “Because they would if they knew.”

“Knew what?” Ian said. He raised his voice. “Knew that we’re fucking?”

“Shut the fuck up,” Mickey hissed, rushing forward and grabbing Ian’s arm.

Ian shook him off and spun around to face him, face all lit up with anger. “I’m not hiding forever.”

Mickey had no idea how this day had spun out of control so fast. An hour ago they’d traded blow jobs in the shower and then laughed as they tried to hold each other under the water. Now Ian looked like he wanted to kill Mickey.

“Jesus, stop,” Mickey asked. “Just…” He licked his lips. “Look, I’m fucking trying, okay? I can’t just—” He huffed.

Ian’s face softened a fraction, but he kept his arms crossed over his chest. “I’m not asking for much here, Mickey,” he pointed out, voice quieter now. “But I didn’t run away with you to keep hiding.”

Mickey ran a hand through his hair. He had run away with Ian to get away from the wedding and not worry about Terry catching them again. That was as far as his thought process had gone that day. It wasn’t like he’d been sitting around doodling hearts on his notebook and picturing some future where they’d walk down the street holding hands and go to gay bars together. He hadn’t pictured a future at all beyond getting out of the city and not dying.

But that didn’t seem like it would be an answer Ian would accept very well. Certainly not right now when he was all pissed. Mickey chewed at his lips for a second and glanced around again. “I’ll keep trying,” he said softly. “That’s—Ian, that’s all I can do. I mean, you knew what you were getting with me. I’m not just gonna wake up one day and be…” He shrugged. He didn’t know how to phrase it.

Ian didn’t touch him, but Mickey could tell he wanted to. Ian sighed. “Yeah,” he said quietly. “I knew what I was getting.” He scuffed his shoe on the sidewalk and gave Mickey a sideways little smile. “Fine. I’ll back off a little.”

Mickey tipped his head. “I mean, back off in some ways. Don’t back off my ass.” He practically whispered the last part, but he said it. Ian tipped his head back and laughed, and Mickey felt like he could breathe again.

The whole argument ended up being moot anyway, because there _was_ a couch but the woman holding the garage sale said she couldn’t do shit for them about taking it anywhere. So they ended up dragging the damn thing ten blocks after all. And Ian had insisted on actually buying 5 muffin pan things, and they kept falling off the couch and clanging all over the sidewalk.

“If this thing has bedbugs, I’m killing you and hiding your body in here,” Mickey panted as they struggled to get it up the stairs.

“You’re the one who picked the fucking third floor,” Ian accused.

“Close enough to the ground to go out the window, but less likely to get hit by a drive-by or a burglary,” Mickey said defensively.

“Oh, you know which apartments burglars pick?” Ian said, rolling his eyes.

Mickey shot him a look. “Of course I do, dumbass,” he said. “I’m the fucking burglar.”

They just stood there staring at each other for a second, and then they both started laughing. “I forgot,” Ian admitted.

“Come burgle you tonight,” Mickey said nonsensically. Ian cracked up laughing. He shot Mickey a look so happy it almost stopped Mickey’s heart. Their argument from earlier was all but forgotten, and Mickey had never felt so good in his entire life.

 

Mickey waited until Ian left for another million-mile run to hover over his phone anxiously. He probably should’ve let Ian make this call, but he didn’t want to get Ian’s hopes up. He didn’t want Ian to hear if it was really bad, too.

After a full ten minutes of deliberation, Mickey told himself to quit being a pussy and do it. He hit the call button and waited. It rang and rang and rang. Just when he was about to cut his losses and hang up, the line clicked.

Silence.

“Hey,” he said cautiously.

“Hi,” Mandy whispered.

Mickey’s throat closed up a little at the sound of his little sister’s voice. “You okay?”

Mandy laughed bitterly. “No.”

Mickey made a little noise in his throat. “You safe?” Those were two very different questions.

“For now,” Mandy said. “He’s locked up again. You?”

“Yeah,” Mickey said, heart practically stopping at the idea of Terry being in jail again. For as long as Mickey could remember, that had been good news. “You still want to come out here?” Maybe she didn’t want to now. Maybe everything was fine without Terry.

“He still with you?” Mandy checked.

“Where else would he be?” Mickey asked.

“I don’t know, it’s been six months,” Mandy pointed out. “Definitely long enough for you to fuck it up.”

“Fuck off,” Mickey said without any heat. She wasn’t wrong. “We’re good.”

“I don’t have money to go anywhere,” Mandy said baldly.

“I’ll buy you a fucking ticket,” Mickey promised, suddenly desperate to get his sister here. “Got a job. A real job. Pay fucking taxes and shit.”

Mandy laughed again, but it was muffled, like she was trying to be quiet about it. Mickey wondered who else was in the house, wondered who she was hiding from if not Terry. “Okay,” she said softly. “Yeah.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay,” Mickey echoed. “Uh. You still got that fake ID that says you’re 20?”

“Mandy Makowski turned 21 last month,” Mandy informed him.

Mickey snorted. “Happy fucking birthday. I’ll put the ticket in that name. Go pick it up at the station.”

“Okay,” Mandy said. She still hadn’t asked where they were. They both knew it would be safer for her to find out the day of, in case someone caught her. Mickey’s stomach clenched at the thought. He knew what Terry would do to find out, and so did everyone else. If one of their uncles thought she knew where Mickey was, they might take some of the same steps. “Um, there’s some shit going on with his family,” Mandy added.

“Isn’t there always?” Mickey asked.

“Yeah,” Mandy said, lowering her voice so much he could hardly hear her. “But this is bad. Fiona left some coke out and Liam got into it.”

“What?” Mickey demanded. Six months ago he would’ve had to think for a second about which one Liam was, but Ian never shut the fuck up about his siblings and since they’d been living together Mickey listened more. Liam was the little baby one.

“Yeah, it was bad,” Mandy tells him. “He was in the hospital for a while and Fiona went to jail.”

“Shit,” Mickey said. “How’m I supposed to tell him that? He’s gonna lose his shit.”

“Should I wait until you guys come back here?” Mandy asked. The prospect of going back to Chicago, even with Terry locked up, made Mickey’s heart slam into his ribs, bile rising in his throat. He couldn’t ever go back to that house. Just picturing the living room, the _couch_ , and all the shit that happened that day, made Mickey swallow convulsively so he didn’t puke.

“No,” he said reflexively. “I mean—just get here as soon as you can. Be safer for you. We’ll figure the rest out later.”

“Okay,” she agreed. “Tomorrow?”

Mickey blew out a breath. “Hang on. Let me find the computer.”

“You guys have a computer?” She sounded incredulous.

“Got a rich dude’s credit card,” Mickey said.

“You haven’t gotten caught yet?” Mandy asked. “Don’t they have cameras on ATMs?”

“Yeah, so you pay a hobo to get the cash out and get his face on the camera.” Mickey squinted as the website. “Tomorrow at eleven in the morning. It’s the fucking express one, too.”

“Okay,” Mandy said. “I’ll say I’m working.”

Her voice was kind of weird, almost shaky. Mickey bit his lip. “You okay?” He checked again.

“Fine,” she said, shutting him out. Whatever. When she got off the bus she and Ian would gossip like old ladies.

“Alright,” he said after a few minutes of clicking around. He had the rich dude’s credit card number memorized, so he didn’t have to go hunting for it. “It’s booked.”

Mandy blew out a breath. “Okay. See you tomorrow.”

She hung up just as the door opened and Ian stepped in. He was all energy and movement. He was bobbing his head along with whatever music was in his headphones.

“Hey!” He called out, too loud and not just because of his headphones. “Great run today!”

Mickey rubbed his eyes, tired just looking at Ian. He knew Ian didn’t sleep last night. He’d never known Ian to be so boundless, and he was pretty sure Ian usually slept more than this. Before all this, they’d only slept in the same place a whole night once, but Ian had slept like a log. Besides that, he was always talking, back at the Kash and Grab, about how hard it was to sleep with Lip fucking Karen in the other bed or Carl snoring or Liam crying. This not sleeping thing was new, and it was weird, and it left an anxious, shaky feeling through Mickey’s whole body.

“You just missed Mandy,” Mickey told Ian. Ian yanked his headphones out.

“Mandy!” He said. “Is she okay?”

“Don’t really know,” Mickey admitted. “My dad’s inside again, at least. And she’s coming tomorrow.”

“Wait, what?” Ian asked.

“Booked her a ticket and she’ll pick it up at the station,” Mickey said. “She’ll be here tomorrow night.”

“Shit, Mickey, we don’t have any food!” Ian fretted. “Come on, let’s go to the store right now. We gotta get something good for her.”

“You gonna take a shower?” Mickey asked.

“Oh,” Ian said. He smacked a hand on his forehead and laughed. “Duh! Okay, I’ll take a shower and then we’ll go.” He wiggled his eyebrows up and down. He always did that, thinking it was sexy or some shit, and he never took it to heart when Mickey told him it made him look like a fucking Muppet. “Want to join me?”

Mickey huffed. “Man, my ass needs a break,” he said, almost apologetic.

Ian raised his eyebrows. “Your ass has never needed a break before.”

“Yeah, well, you never used to fuck me six times every fucking day,” Mickey pointed out.

Ian put his hands on his hips. “For real?”

Mickey’s heart started thudding a little. Ian looked mad about it. But Mickey wasn’t just saying it; he _did_ need a break. He couldn’t keep up with Ian anymore. He wanted to fuck pretty much every minute they weren’t working or he was out running. And Mickey wasn’t one to complain, normally, but he did have a limit to how much he could take, _literally_.

“I…” Mickey licked his lips. He shouldn’t really be saying no. It wasn’t like it would be _bad_. It never was. They could just use more lube than they usually did. And who knew—if he pissed Ian off, Ian could just take off. Then what the fuck would Mickey do?

“No,” Ian said, face clearing. “Hey, you’re right. It’s fine.”

“Ian,” Mickey said. “I mean, I can blow you if you want.”

Ian came over and crowded Mickey against the wall, kissing him and rubbing a hand through his hair. “Well, don’t make a chore out of it.”

Mickey laughed into Ian’s mouth. “It’s not.”

“Yeah?” Ian checked. “I mean, if you want to. I won’t say no.”

Mickey bumped his chest against Ian’s. “Such a fucking martyr.” He _really_ didn’t mind blowing Ian a thousand times a day. He fucking loved it.

“Yeah, I’ll make that sacrifice for you,” Ian joked. He kissed Mickey again. “Really, though, I can just jerk off. You don’t have to.”

“Fuck if I’m letting you jerk off alone,” Mickey said, pulling his shirt off. He squirmed a little at the way Ian’s eyes went darker, roving around Mickey’s bare chest. It was a good squirming, though. Now his dick was starting to get interested in this conversation.

“Oh, so what you mean is I’m gonna have to return the favor,” Ian breathed, reaching a hand down to palm at Mickey.

“Fuck,” Mickey hissed. “Let’s go.”

Ian laughed at him. “Needy.”

Mickey blew Ian first, because his mouth was watering over it again, and then Ian returned the favor, and then Ian got hard again before they even fucking finished washing their hair and Mickey jacked him off fast and hard.

“Jesus Christ, Ian,” Mickey said when they were finally out of the shower. “You on something? I don’t know anyone who can get hard so fast so often.”

“No one else gets to fuck you,” Ian said easily. “If they did, they could.”

Mickey could feel himself blushing a little. “Shut the fuck up.”

Ian huffed and rooted around in their shitty, uneven dresser for a clean shirt. “We gotta do laundry.”

“Wait ‘til tomorrow and make Mandy do it,” Mickey suggested. Ian threw a lone sock at him.

“We’re not making Mandy do it.”

“Payback for coming out here,” Mickey insisted. “And we bought the ticket.”

“I think you mean Richard Adamson bought the ticket,” Ian shot back.

“Yeah, well, I’m the one who went out and got _Dick’s_ card, right?”

Ian shook his head, laughing a little. “You’re real good at going out and getting dick.”

“I don’t have to go out for it anymore,” Mickey pointed out. “Got that good dick right here at home.”

The smile that spread over Ian’s face was softer now. “Home,” he echoed, grin growing. He came over and pulled Mickey close, kissed him softly. “Our home.”

Mickey didn’t really know what to say; he felt kind of embarrassed. It wasn’t like calling their shitty little apartment _home_ was something he’d actively avoided doing, but he just didn’t really know how to react to Ian having _feelings_ all over the place. This used to be the part where Mickey would punch him in the chest and tell him to quit being such a fag, but that wasn’t really an option anymore.

Mickey kissed Ian back and then pushed him back a little. “We gonna go get food or what?”

“Oh, yeah!” Ian said. He went back to getting dressed. “I’m so excited to see Mandy!”

“Yeah, yeah,” Mickey said, pulling his shirt over his head. “Uh. She said—she told me some stuff. With your family.”

Ian went still for a second. He had his back to Mickey, but Mickey caught the way he froze. Ian suddenly focused really hard on pulling his belt through the loops. “Yeah?” He asked casually.

“Ian, you need to talk to your family.”

“Let’s go.” Ian tried to push past him, but Mickey stopped him with a hand on Ian’s chest.

“Fiona almost killed Liam.”

That got Ian to finally meet his eyes. “What?”

“She left some coke out and he got into it.”

“Is he okay?” Ian’s voice went high with panic, his hands clutching at Mickey’s arms.

“Mandy said he’s okay now. He was in the hospital for a while. Fiona went to jail.”

Ian rubbed a hand over his face. “Shit.”

“I think you should call them.”

Ian clenched his jaw. “I can’t do anything about it.”

“Ian,” Mickey said quietly. “At least let them tell you the kid’s okay. I know you want to hear him babble in the phone.”

Ian sagged against Mickey’s shoulder for a second. He pushed himself back up and squared his shoulders. “When we get back.”

Mickey kind of wanted to push it, which was a strange as fuck feeling. Why the hell would he care if Ian talked to his family? He did, though. He knew not talking to them was killing Ian, even if he wouldn’t admit it, and he hated thinking about Ian beating himself up some of those nights while he sat up, not sleeping. Maybe that was what all the weirdness was about. Maybe he couldn’t settle because he was avoiding his family.

But Ian had his stubborn face on, and Mickey didn’t know if he was _allowed_ to push on that kind of shit. They’d always kept each other pretty separate from their families, aside from Mandy, for pretty obvious reason. Maybe it wasn’t Mickey’s place to say anything, even playing house together in a place with their names—the names on their IDs, anyway—on the lease, six months after running away together.

“Okay,” he said instead. “Let’s go.”

He put his hand on Ian’s back as they went out the door, and he told himself to let Ian make his own fucking decisions.

 

Mickey bounced his leg nervously. Neither of them had heard from Mandy all day. She hadn’t even said if she made it on the fucking bus. They could be sitting here for nothing.

“She didn’t make it,” Mickey said. “She would’ve said if she made it.”

“The bus hasn’t even come in yet,” Ian reminded him. He eyed Mickey’s bouncing leg but wisely kept his hands to himself. Mickey was biting at the skin around his thumbnail, but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t slug Ian if he had to.

Mickey blew out a breath. “Should’ve got her here sooner.”

Ian sighed. “Yeah.” Quieter, he added, “Got caught up just being us.”

Mickey nodded, but he couldn’t look over at Ian just then, couldn’t see how earnest Ian’s face must have been. “Yeah,” he managed to say, and from the corner of his eye he saw Ian duck his head, lips ticking upward. It had been their own little world, being here; no one knew them here. They talked to people at work and then they came home to each other. They didn’t have to worry about paying for anyone else’s shit and they didn’t have to worry about anyone catching them or walking in on them or blabbing to Terry about them. They spent a lot of time just touching each other, and it was hard to let that go by bringing anyone else into their apartment.

Finally, the bus pulled in, and Mickey grabbed at Ian’s arm despite himself. He was getting too used to touching Ian; he was getting stupid and he was going to get them killed. Ian didn’t say anything. He stood up next to Mickey and kept himself a careful distance away.

Old lady. Guy with two kids. College looking kid. Mickey scanned through the crowd. And then he saw the flash of silver—Mandy’s nose ring.

“Mandy!” Ian called. She came closer and Mickey’s stomach dropped.

“The fuck happened to your face?” He demanded. She’d covered it with makeup, but Mickey was all too familiar with that trick. He could see bruises under her makeup. She hadn’t said when Terry got arrested; maybe he’d had time to give her a goodbye present before he left.

“Nothing,” Mandy said, forcing a smile. She threw her arms around Ian, who looked alarmed. The fact that was lying about it meant it hadn’t been Terry, and something ugly twisted in Mickey’s chest.

“You dating some asshole who did that?” Mickey asked.

“I tripped,” Mandy explained, not meeting his eyes.

“Tripped?” Ian echoed. “Mandy, come on.”

“It’s fine,” Mandy said, teeth clenched. “You live in this fucking bus station or we going somewhere?”

“Yeah, okay, clumsy feet,” Mickey spat, throat tightening. He’d left his little sister. He hadn’t been there to protect her. And this was what happened. He glanced over at Ian and saw the same stricken, guilty look on Ian’s face he could feel in his chest. Ian met his eyes and Mickey shook his head jerkily. Mandy wasn’t going to say shit right now.

“Okay,” Ian said, kind of awkwardly. “You got bags or anything?”

“Just this,” Mandy said, indicating her backpack.

“I’ll carry it,” Ian said, because he was an asshole like that. It made Mandy smile though, and she shook it off to hand it over. Mickey rolled his eyes but didn’t say anything. Let them have their stupid little moment. Whatever.

“Let’s go,” Mickey said, leading the way through the station. Behind him, Ian and Mandy kept up a steady stream of gossip about where Ian worked, if he liked it, what they did for fun here, if they had a reliable weed guy. Mickey led the way up the rickety stairs. The light was burnt out again.

“This it?” Mandy asked neutrally.

Mickey waved a hand toward their door. “Here.”

He got the door open and waved her inside. Ian squeezed Mickey’s shoulder as he walked past him. It shouldn’t have settled Mickey as much as it did; it was just a brief touch, nothing that would look weird to anyone walking by. But it allowed Mickey to take his first full breath all day.

“Luckily Mick’s a paranoid freak who said we had to get a two-bedroom,” Ian said. “So you get a room.” He was being so fucking casual about it, tossing out the fact that they shared a room, a bed, like that was something they could just talk about it. Mickey swallowed hard, darting a look over at Mandy.

She didn’t even react. “Good,” she said. “Your couch looks nasty.”

“Hey, I sprayed it with cleaner stuff,” Ian said.

“Did you find it on the sidewalk?”

“No,” Mickey said, probably a little overly harsh for this teasing conversation. “Bought it at a fucking garage sale.”

“Okay,” Mandy said, raising her eyebrows. “Didn’t know you’d be offended over your furniture.”

“I’m not fucking—“ Mickey cut himself off and stalked into the kitchen. “You gonna eat something?”

“We’ll sit down and have dinner,” Ian said. “We even have a table!”

It was a fucking card table they bought for twelve bucks at Big Lots, and they’d had to go out and buy a third chair last night, but whatever. It wasn’t like Mandy was used to living in luxury or anything. They’d bought themselves a new mattress when the shitty motel one wasn’t doing Mickey’s back any favors, and somehow Ian had talked Mickey into buying an actual bed frame to go with the headboard he wanted and even one of those table things you put on the side by the bed. Mandy would be stuck on the old mattress on the floor unless she wanted to save up and buy herself a new one, but they did buy her sheets and a brand-new pillow and they even bought her an actual dresser Mickey’d had to assemble last night, cursing while Ian laughed at him.

Ian was bustling around, getting food ready, and Mandy met Mickey’s eyes. “What’s up with him?” She mouthed.

Mickey rubbed his eyes and shrugged. “Don’t know.”

“He on something?”

“Not that I know of.” He dropped his voice lower and admitted, “He hasn’t talked to his fucking family the whole time he’s been here.”

“I know,” Mandy said. “Debbie always asks if I know where he is.”

Mickey bit his lip. “People talking about us leaving?”

Mandy shrugged. “Yeah, at first. Not so much now. Not everyone figured out why you took off at the same time, though. I mean, I think most people realized you went together. But not everyone realized you went… _together_.”

Mickey took a deep breath. “Dad?”

“Yeah,” Mandy said softly. “Yeah, he got that right away.”

“Fuck.”

“He doesn’t know where you are,” Mandy pointed out.

Mickey watched her for a second. “He give you a hard time about it?”

Mandy shrugged. “At first.”

That could mean a lot of things, but Mickey wasn’t sure he was ready to get details. Ian banged a spoon against a pot and Mickey wiped at his mouth before he got up to help. He felt sort of weird about Mandy seeing them here. It was just—they’d been in their bubble. Making food together, eating together, doing dishes together, lying on top of each other on the couch while they fell asleep to some movie they pirated on their stolen laptop. Mickey hadn’t had to worry about anyone seeing them in here. This was _their_ place, and now he could feel Mandy watching them and he didn’t quite feel like he fit anymore.

Ian put his hand on Mickey’s hip and Mickey jumped out of his skin. Ian pursed his lips and narrowed his eyes and Mickey knew he was in for it. Ian surprised him, though; he raised his eyebrows and nodded a little, and then he moved his hand to Mickey’s shoulder instead and said,

“Take that over to Mandy, okay?”

“Okay,” Mickey mumbled.

Normally, he’d crowd up against Ian in the kitchen, stealing kisses and grinding against him to get him hot. Right now, he felt jumpy and weird. He took the plate over to Mandy and couldn’t meet her eyes. Ian came over and sat down and Mickey couldn’t look at him, either, not even when Ian put a plate in front of him. Mickey couldn’t get a full breath. He didn’t know how to do this with anyone else around.

Finally, after a few tense, wordless seconds, Mandy said, “You do realize I _know_ you’re together, right? I walked in right after you guys had _obviously_ been fucking at the wedding and then you ran off together. Like…Jesus. Take a breath, would you?”

“I can’t—it’s not—you don’t…” Mickey licked his lips.

“Leave him alone,” Ian said mildly. “He’s like a stray cat. Just let him freak out for a bit and then he’ll calm down.”

“Fuck you,” Mickey said, for lack of any other comeback.

“Okay,” Ian said, eating like he didn’t have a care in the world.

Mandy snorted and started eating, too, and then Mickey was just the asshole who couldn’t look at anyone or say anything. His chest was too tight, the thought of Mandy seeing him look at Ian and knowing exactly how he felt making him feel like the room was too small.

“Hey,” Ian said softly, nudging Mickey’s foot with his own under the table. “It’s okay. Just eat. Don’t worry about the rest of it.”

 _The rest of it_. Like it was no big deal.

But Mandy was eating, and Mickey was pretty sure it was the first meal she’d had all day. They’d gotten her here, safe and away from Terry and whatever dickbag gave her the bruises on her face. And like she’d said—she knew they were here together. She knew they’d run off together. It didn’t stop her from coming. She didn’t go to the bus station, check out the ticket, and then rat them out to Terry or anyone else. She’d never do that, especially not with Ian on the line.

Mickey blew out a breath. He relaxed a fraction. He rolled out his neck. He scratched at his face, and then he started to eat.

“See?” Ian said smugly, making Mandy snort again. Now Mickey was just annoyed they were ganging up on him, but he was used to that. They’d hung out a few times, all three of them together, and it wasn’t too bad.

“Debbie’s been asking about you a lot,” Mandy said carefully.

Ian clenched his jaw and looked down at his plate. He hadn’t called them after they went shopping the night before; Mickey probably should’ve pushed, after all, but he didn’t know how to do that without being an asshole about it and he hadn’t wanted to start a fight before Mandy got there.

Mandy could push all she wanted, apparently.

“They doing okay?” Ian asked softly.

“Not really,” Mandy told him. “Liam’s out of the hospital now, but he has to keep going back to the doctor so they can keep an eye out for permanent damage.”

Ian’s face twisted up and Mickey didn’t think twice before he reached over and squeezed the back of Ian’s neck. He felt awkward when he remembered Mandy there, but then Ian was leaning against him a little and Mickey couldn’t pull his hand away without being really shitty.

“Liam,” Ian murmured. “Shit.”

“You could call ‘em,” Mandy suggested, all casual and light.

Ian swallowed, and then he nodded. Mickey told himself not to feel bitter about Ian agreeing to do it for Mandy but not for him. It was a tag-team effort, he told himself. Ian had agreed to call them last night, but then they’d gotten distracted making sure Mandy’s room was ready. It didn’t mean anything.

They finished eating and Mandy pointedly took all the dishes over to the sink. She glanced down at Ian’s phone and Ian nodded. He turned to Mickey with those big fucking Bambi eyes and said plaintively, “Will you stay with me while I call?”

Well, what the fuck was Mickey supposed to say to that? How could he say _no_? “Yeah,” he said. “Come on.”

He tugged at Ian’s elbow until Ian followed him into the living room to sit down on the couch. He sat beside Ian, close enough for their shoulders to press together. Ian took a deep breath and hit the call button. Mickey wasn’t sure which sibling Ian called—he’d guess Lip, with no other information, just because Lip seemed to be the one Ian was closest with—but it was definitely a girl who answered, and from the volume and intensity of her greeting, Mickey was pretty sure it was Debbie.

“Hey, Debs,” Ian said, confirming Mickey’s suspicion. “No, I’m okay. I’m really good, actually.” Mickey had to bite down on a smile at that, and then Ian looked over and caught him and grinned at him. Mickey rolled his eyes and elbowed Ian lightly. “Can’t tell you where I am,” Ian said regretfully. “I’ll explain next time I see you. Can you tell me about Liam?”

His face got sadder and guiltier the longer he listened, and Mickey couldn’t help but put his hand on Ian’s leg. He didn’t know if it would make a difference, but Ian reached down with his free hand and held onto Mickey’s, and he gave Mickey this grateful little smile, so it probably wasn’t a terrible thing to do.

“He’s okay, though?” Ian asked. “As far as anyone can tell?” He nodded a few times. “Can you put him on?” He smiled after a second. “Hey, buddy,” he said, voice going all soft. “How you doing? You okay?” He laughed a little. “Yeah, it’s Ian. I miss you, too.”

Ian’s voice was getting a little wobbly, and Mickey had no clue what the fuck he was supposed to do if Ian started crying. Mickey didn’t know how to deal with crying. He squeezed Ian’s fingers, and Ian squeezed back. That seemed like a good sign.

“Okay,” Ian said. Mickey was pretty sure Debbie was back on. “I gotta go, Debs. Say hi to everyone for me, will you? Tell ‘em I’m doing good. Love you, too. Bye.”

Ian hung up and just sat there for a second with his eyes closed. Mickey didn’t know if he was supposed to do something. Was he supposed to ask how it went? He could tell how it went—Liam was probably okay, but it was hurting Ian not to be there helping. Was it even worth talking about?

Ian sighed. “Liam’s okay,” he said quietly.

Mickey didn’t really know to respond to that. “Good,” he said. That seemed safe.

“They all want to know where I am and when I’m coming home.”

Fear gripped at Mickey’s heart. “Oh.”

Ian opened his eyes and looked over at Mickey. “I’m not going back, Mickey,” he said steadily. “I am home.”

Mickey didn’t get _tears_ in his eyes. He was just glad, was all. He sniffed a little. “Okay,” he said, unsure how to tell Ian how relieved he was to hear that. Ian could see it on him, though, luckily. Ian smiled at him and leaned in for a kiss. Mickey didn’t let himself wonder if Mandy was watching—he could hear the sink going, and she was probably doing it on purpose to give them some privacy. Ian was sad, and he was missing his family and worrying about Liam. Mickey wasn’t going to dodge him right now. He kissed Ian and put a hand on Ian’s neck.

“Maybe you could keep talking to them,” he pointed out. “Just, you know. Keep in touch.”

Ian nodded. “Yeah, I think I should.”

“Can call that asshole brother of yours next time,” Mickey said. He and Lip had never really gotten along for longer than it took to exchange money and a homework assignment, but he knew Ian and Lip were close. Ian would probably be happier if he checked in with Lip every once in a while.

The fact that Mickey not only knew what would make Ian happier but _cared_ was something that scared Mickey, a bit. But he was choosing not to think about that just then. He had Ian here, they were away from Terry, and now Mandy was safe, too. Today, Mickey was just going to be glad things were going so well.

 

Abdi noticed Mickey looking at the clock again and again and asked teasingly, “You got a hot date or something?”

“What?” Mickey asked. “No. I’m—” Mickey shrugged. “My sister’s here.”

“You have a sister?” Abdi asked.

“Yeah.”

“That’s the most personal thing you’ve ever told me,” Abdi pointed out with a little laugh. “She visiting for a few days?”

“No,” Mickey said. “She’s—staying. Living with us.”

“Us?” Abdi asked immediately. Mickey cursed himself internally. He was getting sloppy, all this time saying shit like _us_ and _we_ with Ian bleeding over into the rest of his life.

“I moved here with my friend,” Mickey said evenly, just like he’d practiced a million times, with Ian, with the mirror, with no one.

“Oh, sweet,” Abdi said. “Someone you knew from high school or something?”

“Yeah,” Mickey said.

Abdi waited a second, but Mickey didn’t offer anything else. Abdi raised his eyebrows. “Where’d you move here from?”

Mickey sighed. He wasn’t exactly a big fan of giving out information about himself. But Abdi was a nice enough guy, and Mickey knew for a fact the guy didn’t trust cops—he’d mentioned something about his parents being from some country where it wasn’t safe to trust cops or something, as if that wasn’t just every country—so Mickey automatically trusted him more than he trusted people who thought cops were some upstanding protectors or shit like that.

“Chicago,” Mickey said. “South Side.”

Abdi huffed a laugh. “Yeah, I could’ve guessed the last part,” he said, eyeing Mickey’s knuckles. “My uncle lives there.”

“Cool,” Mickey said dispassionately. “Him and two million other people.”

“Why’d you pick Minneapolis?” Abdi asked curiously. “I mean, if you’re gonna leave Chicago, why not go somewhere warm?”

Mickey gritted his teeth for a second. “I didn’t really have enough money to go wherever I wanted.”

“Oh, yeah,” Abdi said sympathetically. “You saving up to go somewhere else?”

“Not if I don’t have to,” Mickey muttered without really thinking.

Abdi’s look turned quizzical. “Why would you have to?”

Mickey couldn’t take this beating around the bush anymore. “My dad’s a fucking asshole who wants to kill me, okay? I ran off to get away from him. If he finds us, we gotta leave.”

Abdi swallowed. “Oh.”

Mickey shoved a hand through his hair. “Shit. Look, I ain’t talking about this, okay? And don’t go blabbing.”

Abdi narrowed his eyes. “I’m no snitch.”

“Great,” Mickey said. “Cool. Can we go throw some fucking suitcases around now or is talking part of the job, too?”

Abdi rolled his eyes. “I’m not gonna be offended since you said your dad wanted to kill you. Go ahead and go back to grunting and not listening to me.”

It made Mickey laugh a little, against his will. “Thank you,” he said sarcastically. Abdi snorted.

After a few minutes without talking, Abdi said, “So…is your sister hot?”

“The fuck kind of question is that?” Mickey complained. “She’s my fucking sister. How would I know? Anyway, stay away from her. I don’t need you spewing details about fucking my sister like you do all the other chicks you bang.”

Abdi laughed. “That means she’s hot.”

“God, shut the fuck up.”

All told, it was probably the best interaction they’d ever had, at least in terms of Mickey contributing to said interaction. Abdi wasn’t kidding about Mickey grunting and not listening.

“Hey, man,” Abdi said just as they were parting ways in the parking lot. “If you and your friend and your hot sister ever want to go out sometime, let me know.”

Mickey snorted. “Yeah, right.”

Abdi laughed. “No, okay, I mean it, though. Without me trying to hook up with your sister.” He shrugged. “I’ve never lived anywhere else, you know? Feels like it’d be kinda scary to just take off. So if you guys want to make some friends, I have friends.”

Mickey did not want to make friends. He’d never in his life wanted to make friends. The only friend he’d ever had was Ian, and Ian had become his friend mostly against Mickey’s will. Most importantly, they could not be friends with Abdi, or anyone, because Mickey didn’t trust himself to be around Ian with other people around. He sure as hell didn’t trust Ian to be around him with other people around. And Mickey didn’t really _want_ to be around other people with Ian. He was out of practice holding himself back from touching Ian when he wanted to. The thought of being in public and having to keep his hands to himself with Ian sitting right next to him wasn’t very appealing. He’d rather drink with Ian at home and fuck on the kitchen floor. Though that was a bit out of the question now that Mandy was there.

But, despite popular opinion, Mickey did _understand_ social norms. Just because he chose not to follow them most of the time didn’t mean he was totally ignorant of them. He knew it would be a real dick move to tell Abdi it was never going to happen.

So instead, he just said, “Uh, thanks. I’ll let you know sometime.”

“Cool,” Abdi said easily. “See you around.”

He went off to his car, and Mickey went to catch the bus. When he got home, Mandy and Ian were lying on the couch all cuddled up together like Ian always wanted Mickey to do. Mickey rolled his eyes at the sight of them.

“Hey,” he said. Having Mandy here was good, because he knew she was safe and Ian was happy to have her here, but it also had Mickey on edge. It was weird having her around when she knew about him and Ian. Should he go give Ian a kiss hello? He normally would, but he was still off-balance with Mandy here. Plus, he’d have to lean over Mandy to get to Ian. That just felt weird.

Mandy sat up, which solved one problem, but not the problem of Mickey feeling wrong-footed and unsure in his own fucking home. He sighed and told himself to quit being a pussy. If he didn’t kiss Ian right now, Ian would know it was because of Mandy, and then Ian would probably get that little disappointed wrinkle between his eyebrows that Mickey made him have all the time. He hated that stupid wrinkle. It always meant Mickey had fucked up.

Mickey squared his shoulders like he was going to deliver a beatdown and stalked over to Ian. This kiss was a lot like the one in the van—fleeting, quick, and with Mickey running off afterward. At least he skipped flipping Ian off this time, but he did immediately head into the kitchen without looking at Ian or Mandy after. He could hear them laughing at him and ignored them.

Ian came in a few minutes later. “Hi,” he said, giving Mickey one of those smiles that was the exact opposite of the disappointed wrinkle.

“Hey,” Mickey said.

“So. Mandy was telling me some stuff.” Ian looked at Mickey closely. “You got a son.”

It was a jolt along Mickey’s spine. A son? For a second, his throat clogged up, the memory of the whore on top of him and Ian’s eyes filling up with tears. Mickey sucked in a shaky breath.

“Okay,” Mickey said.

“Mick,” Ian said softly.

“It’s whatever,” Mickey said harshly.

Ian sighed, but he didn’t push it. “You hungry?” He asked instead.

“Yeah,” Mickey said. “Hey,” he lowered his voice. “Mandy say who beat the shit out of her?”

Ian pursed his lips. “She was dating that guy, Kenyatta? The one she brought to your—” He cut himself off with a shrug. Mickey shrugged back. He knew what Ian meant. His wedding. That they’d run out on. “Well.”

“Well,” Mickey agreed. “You guys eat already?”

“No, we were waiting for you,” Ian told him. “I got chicken marinating in the fridge.”

“Marinating?” Mickey echoed. “Who the fuck are you, Bobby Flay?”

“How do you know who Bobby Flay is?” Ian asked, amused, as he opened the fridge.

“Had a TV,” Mickey pointed out. He didn’t mention that sometimes, when they were really hungry and there was nothing to eat, before they learned to steal well enough not to get caught with anything bigger than a pack of gum, they’d watch cooking shows and drool over the food. That seemed like something too shitty to mention. Maybe that was a memory he and Mandy could just bury and forget about.

“I talked to Lip today,” Ian said, would-be casual except his shoulders went all tight. “Fiona’s on house arrest so—well, I guess money’s kind of tight.”

Mickey watched his back for a second as he pulled stuff out of the fridge. “You gonna send ‘em some?”

Ian shot him a look over his shoulder. “You okay with that?”

“What?” Mickey asked. “Why you asking me? It’s your money. Do whatever the fuck you want with it.”

That seemed to be the wrong answer. Ian’s shoulders went all tight again and he turned back to the fridge. His movements got all jerky. “Great, I will,” he muttered.

Mickey rubbed his eyes, wondering what the hell he’d done wrong. It wasn’t like he’d been an asshole and told Ian _not_ to send his family money. But now Ian seemed like he was pissed at Mickey for saying yes. Mickey couldn’t keep up with whatever fucking rules there were for relationships. He’d never _been_ in one before. He thought Ian should be cutting him some slack here.

They didn’t talk about it for the rest of the night, but Ian seemed to get over it pretty fast. They ate dinner and he was animated again, telling Mandy all about working at the diner and the times they lifted wallets off rich guys.

“You know, this guy at the diner told me yesterday I could be a stripper,” Ian said conversationally. Mickey’s head snapped up.

“The fuck?” He demanded. “Who was he?”

Mandy laughed at him. “Uh oh,” she said. “Someone sounds jealous.”

“I didn’t get his name or anything,” Ian said. “Don’t know if I’d tell you if I did. You beat the shit out of Ned that one time.”

Mickey could feel his lip curling. “Fucking grandpa got what he deserved. What’s an old fuck like that doing pawing around a teenager, anyway?”

Ian rolled his eyes, but he was sort of smiling at Mickey. He didn’t seem mad about earlier anymore. “Not like I was just a kid or anything,” he said.

“You’re younger than _his_ kid,” Mickey shot back. “He’s a fucking creep.”

“Yeah, well, you won,” Ian pointed out. Mickey didn’t have any answer for that. He didn’t know how to respond. He snapped his mouth shut and gulped a little. He’d _won_? What, like—Ian was his. Sure, that went straight to his dick, in a primal sort of way, but mostly it made Mickey feel…he wasn’t sure what. Confused, for sure. Ian just threw it out there, so easily, like it wasn’t a big deal to talk about how Ian had chosen Mickey over Ned. Over anyone else he could’ve had, really; it wasn’t like there weren’t other guys who wanted Ian.

Mickey focused hard on taking a few pulls from his beer, hoping its cold would cool off his cheeks. He felt overheated, despite the fact that it was only fifty degrees outside and they’d agreed to keep the heat off until it was winter again.

 _Winter again_. Because they’d still be living here in the winter. They’d still be—whatever they were. Together. Dating? Mickey wasn’t sure what counted as dating. Did they skip that? They’d sure as fuck never gone on a date. But you could probably call yourselves dating when you ran off together and had an apartment together. Couldn’t you? Or was there another name for that? Mickey didn’t have the first idea.

“Debbie said Lip’s doing well in college,” Mandy told Ian. “He say anything when you talk to him today?”

“Just said it’s a lot more work than high school,” Ian said. “I guess he’s got this girlfriend who made a whole schedule for him and stays on him about doing his assignments and that kind of stuff.”

Mandy’s smile went a little tight. “Oh, good,” she said.

“Shit, Mands, sorry,” Ian said. “I didn’t mean to—sorry.”

“It’s fine,” Mandy said. “I have a boyfriend, too. Well, had, I guess.”

“Yeah, you ain’t going back to him,” Mickey said gruffly. He nodded toward Mandy’s face.

“I told you, I fell,” Mandy said stubbornly.

“Oh, you fell onto someone’s fist?” Mickey asked, anger rising hot in his throat. “Come the fuck on. I know what a punch looks like.”

Mandy blew out a breath. “Can you just shut the fuck up about it? I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Fine,” Mickey said. “Long as we agree you’re not telling him where we are.”

“I won’t tell him,” Mandy said. “I’m not an idiot.”

“We know that,” Ian assured her. He gave Mickey a look that meant _shut the fuck up_ and Mickey shrugged. Fuck him for getting mad at someone knocking his sister around, he guessed. Jesus.

He wasn’t in the best mood when they got ready for bed. Ian didn’t seem all that chipper, either. He was scribbling away in that fucking notebook again. He always got vague when Mickey asked what he was writing. _Just my ideas_ , he’d say, and Mickey would huff. Ian seemed to think he could come up with an idea that would make them rich. None of them seemed any more likely than his muffin idea, so Mickey wasn’t exactly holding his breath.

“You wonder what he looks like?” Ian asked when they were lying in bed in the dark.

“Who?” Mickey asked.

Ian rolled over to look at him. “Your son.”

Mickey swallowed down the bile rising in his throat. “No.”

“Not even a little?” Ian asked.

“I don’t—” Mickey had to take a second to just breathe. “I didn’t fucking ask for a kid.”

Ian was quiet for a long time, but Mickey could see his eyelids fluttering with each blink. “I know you don’t want to talk about…that,” Ian said, voice going kind of wry as he probably remembered the last time he’d tried to broach the subject with Mickey. “But I just want you to know…I mean, I’m here, Mick. If you ever do.”

Mickey breathed out shakily. “I don’t want to.”

“I know,” Ian said.

Mickey leaned in and kissed Ian, slipped a hand under the sheets to get at his dick. “How ‘bout we focus on this instead?”

“Won’t hear me complaining,” Ian breathed. Mickey bit at Ian’s jaw and slid down the length of Ian’s body. There weren’t a lot of things Mickey could handle thinking about too much, but this sure as hell wasn’t one of them.

 

Mandy had been staying with them for about a month, and Ian had hooked her up with a job at his diner the week after she got there. She was already getting more tips than him as long as she popped an extra button on her uniform and let dudes look at her tits. The two of them made a game out of flirting with customers and seeing who could rack up bigger tips. It made Mickey nervous, because Ian could end up dead for flirting too obviously with the wrong person. Mandy could, too, actually, if some guy decided he wanted to take her home and she didn’t want to. Mickey’s nervousness made him snappish about it, but Mandy and Ian both told him to calm down and said they’d call him for backup if they ever needed to.

Mickey had only been to the diner they worked at a handful of times over the past seven months or so Ian had worked there. Enough that some of the other people who worked there gave him a familiar nod, but not enough that they knew his name or who he was there to see. That was fine with Mickey. He didn’t need people wondering why he showed up all the time. Mandy working there too helped; it seemed a lot more normal for him to hang around if his sister worked there than just a guy he was friends with.

The few times Mickey had been there, it was when Ian was closing. There weren’t as many people working the closing shift, and Mickey could sit in a booth in the corner and eat the old pie everyone was going to divvy up and take home while he waited for Ian. Tonight, Ian and Mandy were both closing, so Mickey came to hang out and make sure neither of them got their skulls crushed on their way home.

“Hey, Mick,” Ian called out when Mickey came inside. The look Ian was giving him was too obvious, too bright, and Mickey should’ve told him to tone it down, but he couldn’t. Putting that look on Ian’s face always did something to him. Who the hell would’ve ever expected Mickey to make someone that happy? No one. Not Mickey, that was for sure.

“Hey,” Mickey said back, trying not to beam right back at him.

“Sit over there,” Ian said. “Mandy’s mopping in the back.” He came over and dropped a plate with a slice of pie on it in front of Mickey. “Blueberry,” he said, putting his hand on Mickey’s shoulder and leaning into him a little.

“Oh, good, I like blueberry,” Mickey said.

“I know you do,” Ian said with a grin. “Hid it in the back and saved it for you.”

Mickey had to duck his head and bite his lip so he didn’t stretch up and kiss Ian. It was getting harder and harder to be around him in public. Right now, he kind of wanted to grab Ian’s hand and just hang onto him for a while. What the fuck kind of feeling was that? Ridiculous was what it was. Mickey couldn’t afford to do that. He told himself to knock it off and focused on the pie instead.

“Thanks,” he said. He did let himself lean back into Ian a little. Just enough to press their sides together. “How much longer ‘til we can go?”

“Probably like twenty minutes,” Ian said. “Luke’s taking out the trash and I’m just finishing up the ketchup bottles. Mandy’ll probably be done first and she’ll come sit by you. Everyone else left already.”

“You can bring the ketchup over here, right?” Mickey asked. He could tell his voice was going all sappy and dumb. He didn’t want Ian to go stand at the counter, all the way across the room. He hadn’t seen Ian all day. He wanted him to stay right there. “By me?”

Ian was grinning down at him all soft and said, “Yeah, I can bring ‘em over here. Hang on.”

Mickey huffed a pleased little laugh while Ian went to get the ketchup bottles. Ian even sat down across from Mickey when he got back so they could tangle up their legs under the table. It was shaping up to be a great night.

Mandy came out of the back, tugging her hair out of the ponytail she had to wear for work, and shoved at Mickey until he scooted over so she could slide in beside him. Usually, Mickey didn’t like being on the inside like that, because if shit went south he’d have a harder time getting out. But it was just the three of them and that Luke guy, whenever he came back from taking out the trash. Ian could handle himself well enough until Mickey got over Mandy to whatever was happening.

Mandy grabbed two of the ketchup bottles and started helping Ian. “You come and eat pie and don’t even help,” she said, shaking her head teasingly.

“I worked my own job today,” Mickey said unapologetically. “Someone was fucking moving or something. Heaviest suitcases ever. Like nine of them were oversized and two of them were over sixty pounds.”

“Is that even allowed?” Ian asked.

Mickey shrugged. “Anything’s allowed if you can pay the fee.”

Mandy snorted. “Imagine dropping money on a heavy bag. Who needs that much shit?”

“Rich people always spend money on stupid stuff,” Ian said. “One time Ned paid someone to stand in line for us to reserve a table at a restaurant.”

“Ned,” Mickey muttered darkly. He kicked Ian under the table. Ian kicked him back and rolled his eyes.

“Shut up,” he said mildly. “Not like I miss him or anything.”

“Yeah?” Mickey asked. He looked up from his pie to see if Ian was lying.

“Not even a little,” Ian promised. He didn’t look like he was lying. Mickey could usually tell.

“God, you look like you’re gonna fuck right here on the table,” Mandy broke in.

“Christ,” Mickey said while Ian laughed.

“Hey.” Some guy came out from the back. Luke, Mickey assumed. “Who’s this?”

“This is Mickey,” Ian said.

“He’s my brother,” Mandy added.

“And my friend.” Ian couldn’t seem to help himself. Mickey rolled his eyes a little. The dude probably couldn’t guessed that. And it wasn’t really his business anyway.

“Um, okay,” Luke said. “I don’t think Rhonda really likes people coming in after closing who don’t work here.”

“Well, we’re leaving soon,” Mandy pointed out.

“There’s no reason he can’t be here,” Ian said, suddenly on edge. “What, you gonna rat us out to Rhonda?”

“No,” Luke said, giving Ian a weird look. “But I don’t want to get shit for something I didn’t do.”

Ian stood up fast. “What’s your problem?” He demanded. “Mickey’s not doing anything.”

“Ian, whoa,” Mandy said.

“What’s _your_ problem?” Luke asked. “Jesus, I’m just telling you. I’ve worked here longer and I know what Rhonda—”

“Anyone who has a problem with Mickey has a problem with me,” Ian said aggressively, hands balling into fists.

“I don’t have a problem with him,” Luke insisted. “I’m just telling you—”

“Well, stop telling me,” Ian said.

“ _Ian_ ,” Mandy said, sliding out of the booth to stand up and put a hand on his arm. “What’s going on with you?”

“He can’t just come in here and act like—like Mickey isn’t _allowed_ ,” Ian said. His eyes were wild and his chest was heaving. The pie turned to lead in Mickey’s stomach. It was the same way he felt when he woke up in the middle of the night and Ian was weird, the way he felt when Ian came in from a run and couldn’t quite meet his eyes. He’d been trying to write it off as Ian not talking to his family. But Ian was talking to them now, and he was still being weird.

“What the hell is your problem?” Luke asked.

“ _You_ ,” Ian hissed, teeth clenched. “Anyone who makes Mickey feel like he’s not good enough.” He had Luke backed up against a table and was winding his fist up. Mickey sprang up and caught Ian’s arm before he could punch the dumb fuck who’d just been trying to leave work.

“Hey,” Mickey said softly. “Ian, stop. Hey. He wasn’t trying to say anything.”

“You can be anywhere you want to,” Ian said hotly.

“Okay,” Mickey said. “But you need to calm the fuck down right now. Look at me.” Ian swallowed a few times. Mickey had one arm wrapped around Ian’s waist, Ian’s back pressed against Mickey’s chest, and he could feel Ian’s heart pounding way too hard.

Ian looked at Mickey. There was something in his eyes Mickey didn’t know. It was a look he recognized, but he couldn’t read it. It scared him. Ian blinked a few times.

“We’re cool,” Mickey said soothingly. “Come on.”

“Jesus, man, you’re crazy,” Luke said.

“Shut the fuck up,” Mandy snapped. “He’s—not feeling good. Just go, okay? We’ll lock the door.”

Luke left without a backward glance. Ian’s chest was still heaving. Mickey let go of his fist but held him there against his chest.

“Ian,” he said quietly.

“I’m fine,” Ian said stubbornly. He pushed away from Mickey and grabbed all the ketchup bottles. “I’ll put these on the counter and we can go.”

He left. Mandy caught Mickey’s eye. She looked almost as worried as Mickey felt. “Something’s wrong with him,” she murmured.

Mickey rubbed his eyes. “He said he’s fine,” he told her. She gave him a look and he shook his head. “If he says he’s fine, he’s fine,” he said firmly. “You ready to go? What should I do with this plate?”

Mandy just looked at him for a second. “I’ll take it in the back and wash it,” she said.

“Okay. Thank you,” Mickey said pointedly.

She shook her head as she left. Mickey slumped against the table for a second. She wasn’t wrong. He _knew_ something was up with Ian. He just didn’t know what. And Ian obviously didn’t want to talk about it. Ian came back over to him, and he looked like he’d already completely forgotten about the incident with Luke. He stood close to Mickey and leaned into his body.

“You ready to go home?” He asked. His voice was all normal and bright again. Mickey just stared at him for a second.

“You good?” He asked carefully.

“I’m fine,” Ian said breezily. “Just tired. Luke’s annoying anyway.”

“Uh-huh,” Mickey said. “Um. You think he’s going to tell your boss and get you in trouble?”

Ian shrugged. “Rhonda likes me more than she likes Luke. It’s not a problem.”

Mickey scratched at his eyebrow. “You feeling okay?”

Ian met his eyes. He pursed his lips. “I know I’ve been kind of weird,” he said softly. “I think I’m still just getting used to being here. Without my family.”

“Yeah,” Mickey said. That wasn’t the reason. There was no way that could be the reason. Ian was acting like he was on steroids or meth or something.

Ian bumped his hip into Mickey’s and smiled. “I’m okay, though. Got my new family, right?”

It made Mickey’s breath stutter away for a second, how casually Ian could just say that. Right here in the open. Sure, no one else was here, but still. That kind of sentiment took Mickey three weeks, a million fucks, and all the lights off to work up to saying.

“Yeah,” Mickey said. He gave Ian’s waist a little squeeze. “We’re good, right?”

“We’re good,” Ian assured him. He squeezed Mickey’s shoulder and pulled away as Mandy came back. He tossed a wink over his shoulder and said, “Let’s go home and get to bed, huh?” He wiggled his eyebrows.

“Yeah,” Mickey said. There was a lump in his throat. He swallowed it down and avoided Mandy’s eyes as they followed Ian out the door.


	3. Chapter 3

A week went by. Mickey went to work. Nothing was different; it was still dark when he got up, and he drank his coffee, and he ate some cereal, and he went to work. Ian wasn’t up yet when Mickey left, but he didn’t have to work for a few hours. Mickey was extra quiet as he moved around their room. It was one of only a handful of times in at least two months Mickey even saw Ian sleeping, and he sure as hell wasn’t going to wake him up. Even the Energizer Bunny had to recharge sometime, right?

He wasn’t working with Abdi that day, which meant he didn’t talk the whole day. Abdi was the only person at work Mickey ever talked to. He knew some of the other cargo people called him Boo Radley behind his back. And yeah, Mickey hadn’t known what that meant at first, but he knew how to fucking google. He didn’t really give a shit if they thought he was a crazy recluse who may or may not have killed someone. Mickey wasn’t really clear on whether Boo Radley actually did what everyone thought he did. He guessed maybe it didn’t matter. People always made their minds up and didn’t care if the facts didn’t add up.

When Mickey got home from work, the apartment was dead silent. He didn’t think Ian was working a double today, but sometimes he picked up extra shifts while he was already there. They certainly needed the money. He usually gave Mickey a head’s up, though, and Mickey rolled his eyes at himself for feeling kind of bereft about it. They weren’t attached at the fucking hip.

But he went into their room and there was Ian, still in bed. “The fuck?” Mickey asked. Ian didn’t answer. Mickey moved closer and poked at Ian’s shoulder under the blanket. “Hey, you up?” No answer again. Mickey swallowed down a wave of annoyance and pulled the blanket back. “You fucking alive under here?”

“Leave me alone,” Ian mumbled.

“What’s wrong?” Mickey asked, concern welling up in his throat. “You sick or something?”

“I said leave me alone,” Ian repeated, voice a little stronger this time and a whole lot sharper.

Mickey huffed. “You cry for like two years I won’t fucking care about you. Now I try and you’re pissed at me?”

“God, Mickey, not today,” Ian begged. He sounded all raspy and tired, and Mickey felt kind of bad for being mad at him. He obviously didn’t feel so great. Mickey brushed the hair back from Ian’s forehead. He didn’t feel hot or anything, but Ian shrank away from his touch. The felt kind of shitty, but sometimes when people were sick their skin hurt and everything. Mickey had had that happen.

“You want me to make you something?” Mickey asked, trying to make his voice soft. “Soup or something? I don’t know if we have any but…I don’t fucking know, guess I’ll go to the corner store and grab some.”

“’m not hungry,” Ian said, turning his face away from Mickey.

Mickey licked his lips, feeling completely lost. “Okay.” He didn’t have the first fucking clue what to do. He’d never taken care of anyone who was sick before. “You want me to fuck off?”

“Yes,” Ian said crisply, and then Mickey was swallowing hard again because _Jesus_ , that hurt. Ian had never told him to get lost before. Ian was always crowding up against him, trying to follow him around, always wanting to get closer. Ian would walk around with his hands in Mickey’s pockets if Mickey would let him. It used to annoy Mickey, though there was always something giddy under the annoyance. It stopped annoying him at all sometime after he got out of juvie that second time.

Hearing Ian say he didn’t want Mickey around stung. But Mickey told himself to quit being a pussy about it. Ian was sick. Maybe he was the kind of person who didn’t want anyone else around when he was puking. It wasn’t a big deal.

“Okay,” Mickey said quietly. “I—” He snapped his mouth shut. “Sorry.”

He waited for a second, but Ian didn’t respond. He didn’t even acknowledge Mickey had tried talking again. Mickey rubbed the back of his neck and tried to be quiet while he changed his clothes. He went to the kitchen and stared at the cupboards blankly for a second, forgetting what he was doing. Food. Dinner. Eating.

He made himself spaghetti because it was about all he could handle. Boil the noodles, dump the sauce on. Dinner. He bit his lip and texted Mandy. _Off soon?_

_Half an hour_ , she confirmed.

_Ian’s sick_ , he said.

_I know. Didn’t wake up for his shift. Didn’t call either_.

_You tell them he’s sick?_ Mickey didn’t want him getting fired or something.

_Yeah_ , Mandy assured him. _Rhonda fucking loves him, lets him get away with anything. Luke even tried to say something about him being nuts and she told him to shut the fuck up_.

Mickey snorted. Why did Ian have that affect on so many people? Fucking scam artist. He warred with himself for another second, but he made himself send the next text.

_Can you get him some soup or something on the way home?_

Mandy sent him a weird face thing. Mickey’s face burned as he realized it was a kissing face. _Shut the fuck up_ , he sent back. _Just fucking do it_.

She sent him a thumb’s up. Mickey didn’t even know how she was doing that. He rubbed at his lips and washed off his plate. He even washed out the pot he’d used to boil the noodles. He usually left that for Ian, but Ian obviously wasn’t in any shape to do it himself.

He watched TV for a while, bouncing his leg anxiously while he waited for Mandy to get home. He was almost afraid to go back in their room. Ian obviously didn’t want him around. Mandy got home and set a to-go container on the kitchen counter.

“Brought it from work,” she said. “Chicken and vegetables.”

“That’s good, right?” Mickey asked. “For sick people?”

“Yeah, I think so,” Mandy said with a shrug. “I look like a doctor?”

Mickey rubbed his face. “You want to give it to him?” He asked.

Mandy snorted. “I’m not getting his germs. He’s _your_ boyfriend.”

“God, shut up,” Mickey said. The word didn’t make a cold panic-sweat break out on the back of his neck anymore, but it wasn’t like he was totally cool with Mandy just tossing it out at him like that. Mandy just flipped him off and headed to her room.

“You’re welcome,” she called snottily over her shoulder. Mickey didn’t answer. He blew out a breath and told himself to nut up. It was just fucking soup. He grabbed a spoon and a paper towel and only hesitated for a second outside their door.

“Hey,” he said softly. “Um. You want soup?” The lump in the bed didn’t even move. Mickey sighed. “I’ll just leave it here then, I guess.”

Ian didn’t say anything. Mickey swallowed hard and left. He slept on the couch. He didn’t know what else to do.

 

Ian was still in bed, still ignoring everything, when Mickey got home the next day, and the day after that, and the day after that, and Mickey was at the end of his fucking rope. This wasn’t the flu or what the fuck ever. Ian wouldn’t even look at Mickey or Mandy. He even snapped at _Mandy_ to go the fuck away, and that wasn’t something Ian would normally ever do. Mickey didn’t know what was happening.

He left another bowl of soup by the bed. Ian never ate the first two. What was he going to do, starve to death? Just waste away in their fucking bed? Mickey couldn’t breathe.

“Sorry,” Ian whispered as Mickey was creeping out of the room. It was the first thing he’d said in at least twenty hours.

“What?” Mickey asked. Ian didn’t repeat himself. Mickey moved closer hesitantly. “Sorry ‘bout what?”

Ian shook his head. “Sorry.”

Mickey pushed a hand through his hair. He couldn’t get a full breath, couldn’t think. “I don’t know what the fuck’s going on.”

“Me neither,” Ian said. Even in a whisper, his voice was all choked up with tears, and it made Mickey’s chest feel all tight to hear it.

“Should I call a fucking doctor or something?” Mickey asked. The only time he’d ever seen a doctor was in juvie after Kash and Grab shot him. He didn’t know if Ian’s old grandpa fuck stitching up his ass after the old lady shot him counted.

“I don’t know,” Ian said.

Mickey chewed at his lip. They sure as fuck didn’t have any money for a doctor. But Mickey could find the money. If he had to, he’d find the money.

“What’s it feel like?” Mickey asked after a second. “Something hurt?”

“Everything,” Ian said, tears welling up in his eyes.

“Fuck,” Mickey muttered, going from worried to outright scared. “What does that mean?”

But Ian had talked himself out, apparently. He shook his head desperately. Mickey wanted to shake him, scream at him, ask him what the fuck was going on. But he wasn’t a complete idiot—he could tell that wouldn’t do anything.

“So should I call a doctor or not?” Mickey demanded, voice getting all high with fear. Ian shook his head again. “Jesus Christ,” Mickey muttered. “What do you need? You need some uppers? That’ll help, right? I could go out—I can find some. That guy who did our IDs. He sells. I’ll go see if he has anything that’ll help.”

But Ian shook his head again. “Don’t want any.”

“What _do_ you want?” Mickey asked, voice shaking. “You want to just…what, stay in bed? Forever? ‘Til you fucking die from not eating? You’re just never gonna get up and I have to drag your fucking dead ass outside?”

Ian was just lying there, crying, while Mickey yelled at him, and it made Mickey feel sick to his stomach. He thought about kicking Ian while he was down after Ian came to the building to try to talk him out of the wedding. Mickey put his hands on his face and let out a little scream of frustration. There wasn’t anything he could _do_ about this. There was no one to punch, nothing to shoot.

Mandy came in the door. “The fuck are you doing?” She asked. “Don’t fucking yell at him.”

“I’m not yelling at him,” Mickey protested. “I’m just…” He shook his head and walked out, pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes. Last year, he would’ve run away. He would’ve left. No way he would’ve stuck around for whatever this was. Ian needed to get his shit together, and Mickey wasn’t going to wait around for it. At least, he would’ve told himself he wouldn’t wait around for it. He probably would’ve, in actuality. Mickey had always had a hard time staying away from Ian.

Running wasn’t even an option now. Mickey couldn’t bear to be in the same room as Ian—a feeling that was apparently mutual—but he couldn’t handle the thought of being away from him, either. Over the past seven months, he’d gotten pretty used to Ian being the first thing he saw in the morning and the last thing at night. He was pretty sure that made him a pussy, but he was having a hard time caring just then.

“I have to go to work,” Mandy said, following him out to the living room. “I can hold ‘em off firing Ian for a few more days, but I don’t know how much longer after that. I told them he has mono.”

“That’s a long one, right?” Mickey asked.

“Yeah, like weeks or months or something.”

“Okay, good,” Mickey said, distracted.

Mandy left and Mickey paced. There was practically a hole in the floor from where he’d been pacing the past few days. He warred with himself and he bit at his fingernail and he cried, just a little, since he was alone, but he knew what he had to do. He rolled out his shoulders and grabbed Ian’s phone off the charger in the kitchen so he could look up the number he needed.

“Yeah?” Lip answered, sounding annoyed.

“Uh,” Mickey said. “Hey.”

“Hi?” Lip said. “Who is this?”

Mickey’s face was burning with humiliation for some reason. “Mickey. Milkovich.”

“Something wrong with Ian?” Lip asked right away, voice going all concerned.

“Yeah,” Mickey admitted, because he couldn’t pretend otherwise. “I don’t—” He blew out a breath. “I don’t know what’s wrong.”

“What is it?” Lip asked.

“He, uh.” Mickey licked his lips. “He won’t fucking get out of bed. He’s all—he’s sleeping. All the time. Three days now. He won’t talk, he won’t eat. He keeps…” Mickey didn’t know if he should tell Lip this part; he’d be embarrassed if anyone knew this about him, but Ian was pretty open with his family. With Lip, for sure. “He keeps crying,” Mickey admitted quietly. “Won’t say about what.”

“What the fuck did you do to him?” Lip snapped.

“I didn’t fucking do anything,” Mickey spat right back. “We were—we’re good. We—he—he’s been happy. Laughing a lot, telling fucking jokes. Runs about a million miles a day, never sleeps, has all these ideas and shit, and I don’t know what the fuck happened. Just thought he burnt himself out or something but he’s not—he’s not getting better.” Mickey hated the way his voice cracked at the end, but he couldn’t help it. He was fucking terrified.

“Shit,” Lip breathed. “Oh, fuck.”

“What?” Mickey asked.

Lip sighed. “It sounds like…” He sighed again. “Did you know our mom’s bipolar?”

“I don’t—I don’t know what the fuck that is,” Mickey admitted, face burning again.

“You ever heard of manic depression?” Lip asked. “Crazy high highs and then crash and burn lows.”

“That sounds like—yeah,” Mickey said. He had to swallow down the lump clogging up his throat. “Sounds like that.”

“Yeah,” Lip agreed. Neither of them said anything for a minute. “He needs to go to a doctor,” Lip said softly. “Monica was…” He stopped himself. “Well, suicide attempts are common. She had to be hospitalized a bunch of times.”

Mickey’s heart stopped. “No,” he said. “That’s—no. Fuck no.”

“Mickey,” Lip started.

“ _No_ ,” Mickey repeated. “I’m not sending him to some fucking psych ward. He stays here with me. I’ll take care of him. I can take care of him until he gets better. I’ll hide the knives and shit until he perks up. He’ll be fine.”

“Mickey, that’s not—” Lip tried again.

“He’s my fucking family,” Mickey said, voice breaking. He couldn’t even care right now. “I will take care of him. Me. Here. He’s staying with me.”

Lip blew out a breath. “Can I talk to him?”

“You can fucking try,” Mickey muttered. “Good fucking luck with that. Hang on.” He went into the bedroom. “Hey,” he said, trying to sound soft. “Uh, you want to talk to Lip?”

“No,” Ian said, muffled against the pillow.

“Well…” Mickey shrugged. “He’s not gonna believe I didn’t kill you if you don’t.” He came closer and pressed the phone to Ian’s ear. “Just fucking grunt at him or something.”

“Go away,” Ian said, but at least he said it into the phone. Mickey could hear Lip talking in this weird, high-pitched voice that Mickey hated. Ian shook his head and batted at Mickey’s hand. Mickey took the phone and left.

“That’s how he’s been for four days,” he told Lip.

“This is not good,” Lip said.

Mickey rubbed his eyes. “What made your mom feel better?”

“Uh, antidepressants,” Lip said. “When she’d take them. She didn’t do that a whole lot, so I don’t really know. Mostly we just had to ride it out until she cycled back up to mania and left us again.”

_Left us_. Mickey wouldn’t be able to handle Ian leaving. He just flat out couldn’t. “I’ll handle it,” Mickey said.

“Mickey,” Lip said quickly, before Mickey could hang up. “Can you just—can you keep us in the loop?”

Mickey was ready to say no, but he thought about how he’d feel if Mandy ran off somewhere and didn’t call him for six months and then ended up like this. He thought of Ian’s face when he found out about Liam, and the way he lit up when one of his siblings called. Mickey swallowed hard. “Yeah.” He hung up before Lip could say anything else. He bounced his leg for a few seconds, and then he got up to check the kitchen for anything he needed to lock away.

 

Mickey wasn’t going to go to work in the morning. He told Mandy, in whispers, what Lip had said, and there was no fucking way he was going to leave Ian like that. But Mandy had the day off, and she told him to go.

“Might need some doctor money soon,” she pointed out softly, and then Mickey had no argument. He was distracted at work, though, dropping luggage and working slow.

“You cool?” Abdi asked.

“What?” Mickey asked, jumping a little. He blinked. “Fine.”

“You look, um…” Abdi kind of winced. “Not great.”

Mickey ran his hands down his face. Four nights on the couch wasn’t doing him a lot of favors, but he didn’t want to piss Ian off. He didn’t think he’d be sleeping either way. “Ian’s sick,” he said. “The guy—my friend. He’s sick.”

“Ah, sucks,” Abdi said sympathetically. “You worried you got it?”

“No,” Mickey said. “I’m worried about him ‘cause he’s my—” Mickey shut his mouth and shook his head, but Abdi’s eyes went kind of wide. He was too smart, and Mickey was tired and worried and scared and too used to he and Ian being a real _us_ for seven months. Abdi saw right through him.

“ _Oh_ ,” he said. “You’re—"

“No,” Mickey snapped. “Shut the fuck up. No. You don’t know anything.”

“Okay,” Abdi said quickly.

“Shut the fuck up,” Mickey repeated.

“I didn’t say anything,” Abdi pointed out.

“I can’t—just stop.”

They went back to awkwardly unloading the cargo hold. After a few awkward minutes, Abdi said, “Did you take him to a doctor?”

“Can’t get him to a doctor,” Mickey muttered, not looking at Abdi.

Abdi watched him for a second. Mickey could feel Abdi’s eyes boring into him. “My mom’s a pediatrician,” he finally said. “She could—”

“Not that kind of sick,” Mickey cut him off roughly. “He’s…” He shook his head. “Not like. Puking sick or anything like that. It’s different. I don’t know.”

After another minute, Abdi said quietly, “My cousin’s a psychiatrist.”

“What, like a shrink?” Mickey asked.

“Yeah,” Abdi said.

“Well, no one’s taking him away, you hear me?” Mickey said, actually looking up at Abdi this time. “He’s staying with me.”

“Uh, okay,” Abdi said. “If he’s not a danger to himself or anyone else, they can’t just take him away. Either he or his family would have to commit him.”

“You sure?” Mickey asked.

“Yeah,” Abdi told him. “I’m in med school right now, too.”

“You _are_?” Mickey asked. “You’re working in _med_ school? How old are you?”

“Twenty-five,” Abdi said. “It’s why I’m only part time, and when school starts up in the fall I won’t be working anymore. It was too hard to keep up last year.”

“Whoa,” Mickey said. “I thought you were my age.”

“Not that much older,” Abdi pointed out. “Just four years, right?”

“Right,” Mickey said. His ID said he was twenty-one. Everyone here thought he was twenty-one.

“Anyway, I could ask my cousin if he’s free later.”

Mickey chewed at his lip. “Why?” He asked suspiciously. “How much you want?”

Abdi looked taken aback. “I don’t want…anything. I just want to help you out, man.”

“Why?” Mickey demanded, more forceful this time.

Abdi shrugged, looking confused. “You’re my friend.”

“I’m your friend?” Mickey echoed incredulously.

“I guess not my _friend_ friend,” Abdi said, like that made any fucking sense. Maybe it did to people who’d ever had friends before. “Just like—you’re my work friend. And I don’t get the feeling you have a lot of friends at all. So, you know.” He shrugged again. “Besides, you ever heard of the Hippocratic Oath? If someone needs help, I want to help them.”

Mickey felt like his head was spinning. He didn’t really trust anyone poking around at Ian, but his conversation with Lip had him feeling desperate. And Mickey would be there to make sure no one tried anything.

“Okay,” Mickey said, still unable to look at Abdi. “Can he come tonight?” He made himself look over at Abdi. He bit his lip and said, “It’s been five days.”

“Shit,” Abdi said, eyes widening. “Yeah, I’ll call him.”

 

Telling Mandy a guy from work and a doctor were coming over wasn’t as hard as Mickey thought. Mostly because he texted her, _Dude from work has a shrink cousin. Coming after work_. Then he shut off his phone. But then he turned it back on, in case something bad happened, and he just ignored all her follow up questions.

He and Abdi sat down on the sidewalk in front of the airport, waiting for Abdi’s cousin so they could all ride together over to Mickey’s place. Mickey lit up while they waited. His hands were shaking.

“So…” Abdi said hesitantly. “Is that why your dad wants to kill you? The—your friend?”

“Yeah,” Mickey said shortly. He thought he’d made it pretty clear he didn’t want to talk about all that. But Abdi was helping Ian, so Mickey couldn’t be a total asshole to him.

“Shit,” Abdi said.

“Yeah,” Mickey said again.

“This cousin’s gay,” Abdi offered. Mickey twitched a little. “Married to a guy.”

“No fucking way,” Mickey protested. “That even legal here?”

“Yeah, they were one of the first couples in line the day they made it legal.”

Mickey looked at him for a second. “No one in your family cares?”

Abdi shrugged. “Some older uncles and aunties. His parents weren’t happy at first, but he came out like ten years ago. Our parents came here—well, shit was going down in their country. And if we still lived there, Musse could get put to death for coming out or getting caught or anything. So I think his parents realized this was another benefit to being here in the US. They got over it and now they’re cool with his husband, too.”

Mickey swallowed hard, flinching a little as he remembered his dad’s pistol coming down on his face. “Yeah, not gonna happen for me.”

“Did your dad do something to you?” Abdi asked worriedly. “Is that why you guys moved here?”

Mickey stubbed out his cigarette before it could burn his fingers. “Yep.”

Abdi let it drop, thank Christ. After a few more minutes of them sitting in silence, a car pulled into the parking lot and Abdi stood up. “That’s him.”

Mickey let out a long breath. No one had ever been over to their place. Just Mandy. It had been only Mickey and Ian for so long. He didn’t like bringing people in now, but he didn’t have much choice.

They didn’t talk much on the drive over. Mickey couldn’t stop biting at his lips. He tasted blood because he’d ripped off a chunk of skin. He was bouncing his leg anxiously. “This one,” he said when they got to the complex. At least he was too worried to feel bad about how shitty their apartment was.

Mandy gave Mickey kind of a wide-eyed look when he brought them inside. She probably couldn’t believe Mickey was letting anyone come inside, much less a doctor. What fucking choice did he have, though? Lip made it sound like Ian might—Mickey shoved the thought away. He couldn’t think about that. He led Musse, Abdi’s cousin, to the room. Abdi sat down on the couch. Mickey was glad he wasn’t going to try playing looky-loo. He couldn’t handle more people than absolutely necessary seeing Ian like this.

“Hi, Ian,” Musse, said, stepping into the room. Mickey shoved a hand through his hair and kicked at a pile of dirty clothes he’d left on the floor before he left this morning. Ian was always getting pissy at Mickey for not putting his clothes in the hamper. But Ian hadn’t been yelling at him for four days, so Mickey had gotten lazy.

Ian looked at the guy, at least. Musse said, “I’m a doctor,” and Ian gave Mickey an intensely betrayed look. “I’m here to help,” Musse assured him.

“He’s not—you’re not going anywhere,” Mickey promised. “You’re staying here. At home.”

Ian relaxed a little. Mickey could feel Musse looking at him, but he didn’t look back. Musse didn’t actually talk to Ian much. There wasn’t really any point to talking to Ian these days. Mickey hadn’t even tried last night or today. After a few minutes, Musse nodded to himself.

“We’ll let you be, Ian.” He tipped his head toward the door. Mickey hesitated for a second. He waited until Musse left, and then he ran a quick hand through Ian’s greasy hair.

“Just want you to feel better,” he mumbled. Ian didn’t respond. Mickey went back out to the living room. Mandy was sitting on the other end of the couch, not talking to Abdi. Musse sat down, but Mickey couldn’t. He paced.

“Does his family have a history of mental illness?” Musse asked.

“His mom’s, um,” Mickey scoured his brain for the word Lip had used. “Um, bi—bipolar?”

“Okay,” Musse said. “Anyone else?”

“I don’t know,” Mickey admitted. “His dad’s, uh, drunk or high all the time, but I don’t know if he’s—I don’t know.”

“Has Ian shown addict tendencies?” Musse asked.

“Uh.” Mickey laughed a little. What a weird fucking question. “Yeah? I guess. But just the same way we all are. We grew up in a fucking shithole, it’s not—everyone gets depressed, living there. Everyone smokes and gets wasted all the time to forget how shitty it is. Ian’s not…I mean, he’s really fucking healthy. He never gets sick and he runs every day. He just…hasn’t been sleeping very much. I mean, until now.”

Musse looked at Mickey. “Not sleeping?”

Mickey rubbed his face. “His brother said it sounds like he was, uh…high? Not high like drugs, high like, um, before he crashed. How their mom would get sometimes.”

“Manic?” Musse checked.

“Yeah, that,” Mickey said. “Uh, he was like…running two or three times a day, and he was always getting distracted. Lost his train of thought sometimes. Not sleeping. He’d take off in the middle of the night to go on walks or some shit. Said he had all these ideas to make us rich.” Mickey snorted and rolled his eyes a little, but his chest was so tight he couldn’t breathe. Ian had made muffin mix from that recipe he’d found. He’d tripled the recipe. And then he’d never even baked the muffins. He said the muffin plan was shit and he’d think of something else. Mickey never heard if Ian thought up anything new. He couldn’t think about all that. He went back to pacing.

“Got kinda aggressive sometimes,” Mandy added softly. “Tried to fight a guy at work because he said Mickey shouldn’t be there.”

“Yeah,” Mickey huffed. “I mean, he’s always had a temper but not like…it wasn’t even a big deal and he lost his shit. Usually takes kind of a lot to set him off.”

Musse glanced over at Abdi for a second, and then at Mandy. “Um, Mickey,” Musse said carefully. “Do you know if Ian was experiencing any, ah, hypersexuality?”

Mickey covered his face with his hands. “The fuck?”

“I’m sorry,” Musse said. “But that’s a symptom of mania, too.”

“Like…what, you’re asking me if he was horny?”

“Maybe more horny than usual.”

“What makes you think I’d fucking know that?” Mickey snapped, bringing his hands down. “You trying to say something? You think I’m a fag?”

“Mickey,” Mandy cut in sharply. “Shut the fuck up. You’re not fooling anyone, and being a jackass about this won’t help Ian.”

Mickey was shaking. He couldn’t breathe. Everything was just closing in on him; the air felt heavy and oppressive. Stale. When was the last time they opened the fucking windows? He remembered Abdi said Musse was—well, he was married to a guy. Musse wasn’t going to bash Mickey. Abdi obviously wasn’t, either.

“It’s okay, Mickey,” Musse said, and he was being gentle in a way that made Mickey snarl. Mickey didn’t need gentle. Not from anyone in this room, for sure. There was one person Mickey could take gentleness form and they were all sitting here talking about him.

“Mickey,” Mandy said, sharp again. That’s what he needed right now. He needed sharp. He needed commands.

“Yeah,” he finally snapped, because they were all looking at him and Musse needed to know this, apparently, to help Ian. “He’s been fucking like crazy lately. Has to get off like six or seven times a day. And I mean _has_ to. Try to keep up but—” Mickey cut himself off. “Hear him jacking off in the shower most nights when he thinks I’m asleep.”

“But that’s normal, isn’t it?” Mandy asked. “He’s seventeen.”

“He’s seventeen?” Abdi cut in, eyes wide. “Mickey, you’re dating a seventeen-year-old?”

“How old are you?” Musse asked.

“Twenty-one,” Abdi said, but at the same time, Mandy said,

“Eighteen.”

Abdi stared at Mickey. “You’re eighteen?”

“I’m…” Mickey blew out a breath. “Yeah. Okay. Fuck. I’m eighteen. Gave a fake ID when I got hired. Had to—I couldn’t—”

“Okay,” Musse said quietly. “We don’t need to talk about that right now. We need to talk about Ian.”

“Is he bipolar?” Mandy asked worriedly.

“That would be my initial diagnosis, based on his family history and what you’ve told me tonight,” Musse said. “I’d normally like to talk with him some more before making a diagnosis, but.” He shrugged. “In his current state, it doesn’t seem like he’s up for that. We might know more when he’s out of this depressive phase. You can get a second opinion, if you want.”

Mickey laughed hollowly. “We can’t get a fucking second opinion.”

Musse nodded. “Okay. He needs medication.”

Mickey breathed out shakily. “Okay. He’s not—his brother said he might get sui—he might try to—” He couldn’t say it. Musse got it, though.

“It is a possibility,” he admitted. “And self-harm coming out of a depressive episode is actually a big worry once he starts medication. Right now he doesn’t have the energy to do anything. As he starts to come out of the depressive episode, he’ll get some energy back, but his mental state might not be as stable.”

Mickey felt like he was going to puke. “So if we don’t get him drugs, he’ll stay like this, and if we do, he could fucking slit his wrists? I can’t—what the fuck?”

“There are things we can do to mitigate that possibility,” Musse said, like Mickey had any idea what the fuck _mitigate_ meant. “But I think we need to wait until Ian’s up to joining this conversation.”

Mickey nodded. He sort of begrudgingly trusted Musse more because he said that. Mickey didn’t like talking about Ian like this, like he wasn’t one room away.

“What do we do right now?” Mickey asked. He didn’t even care that his voice cracked. He hadn’t slept in four days and he was staring down the barrel of Ian possibly hurting himself. He thought he deserved some leeway here.

“Get him some medication,” Musse said, pulling out one of those doctor pads from his coat pocket. “I’ll write you the prescription right now. When he’s up and able to move around, come see me at my office and we’ll talk more. We’ll see how the meds are working. We can adjust them as we need to. In the meantime…” He shrugged. “Be there for him. Encourage him to eat and drink some water. A lot of my patients feel guilty, like they’re a burden.”

“He’s not a fucking burden,” Mickey said.

Musse nodded. “Remind him of that.” He held out the paper for Ian’s medicine. Mickey took it from him, looking down at all the unfamiliar words.

“How long’s it take for him to get better?” He asked.

Musse didn’t say anything for a second. He put his little pad back in his pocket and folded his hands together. “It could be a few weeks before he’s fully out of this depressive phase,” he said. Then he didn’t say anything else.

“Okay?” Mandy said slowly. “And?”

“And we’ll talk more then.”

Mickey’s stomach hurt at how he was dodging the question. That couldn’t mean anything good. He swallowed the lump rising up in his throat.

“Okay,” he said robotically. Musse and Abdi stood up to leave. “Thank you,” Mickey blurted. “Thanks.”

Musse just nodded like it was nothing. Abdi came over and gave Mickey one of those bro high five things Mickey never bothered with. “It’ll be okay, you know?” Abdi offered. “And let me know if you need time off. I’ll cover for you.”

“Thanks, man,” Mickey said, throat tight. “Think I’ll probably be trying to get as much overtime as possible, though,” he said, looking down at the prescription again. His heart sunk as he wondered how much this was going to cost. He pushed the thought away. Whatever. It didn’t matter how much it was going to cost. If this was what Ian needed, Mickey would figure it out.

 

Mickey called Lip, but he didn’t answer. Mickey sighed. He’d put all Ian’s siblings’ numbers in his phone earlier, just in case, and he knew he needed to call one of the other ones to tell them what was going on. He didn’t really want to, though. Dealing with Lip was bad enough, but at least Mickey knew him, more or less. They’d always been in school together.

But Fiona was practically Ian’s mom, so Mickey called her. When she picked up, she sounded neutrally polite. “Hello?”

“Hey,” Mickey said.

“Uh, hello?” She repeated.

Mickey kind of rolled his eyes, though he couldn’t really blame her. Not like she’d have his number. “It’s Mickey. Lip tell you what’s going on?” He knew the answer was yes. Fucking Gallaghers couldn’t keep their mouths shut.

“Yeah, Ian okay?” She asked right away.

“Uh. I mean, no,” Mickey said. “Doctor came to see him, said he’s—” Mickey blew out a breath. “Said he’s bipolar. Needs medication.”

“Fuck,” Fiona breathed. “Oh, Ian.” There were tears in her voice and it made Mickey feel extremely uncomfortable. He couldn’t really handle anyone crying, but crying women were especially out of his depth.

“Said he’ll probably feel a little better in a few weeks once he starts taking the drugs.”

“He gave you a prescription?” Fiona asked.

“Yeah, gotta wait ‘til morning to go get it filled,” Mickey said.

“Okay,” Fiona said. Neither of them said anything for a second. “You know, I think he should come home,” she said. “With all this, with new medication—he needs stability, Mickey.”

“He has stability,” Mickey snapped. “This _is_ his fucking home. Okay? He’s staying here. I can take care of him.”

“I don’t think you can,” she said bluntly.

“Oh, and you think _you_ can?” Mickey demanded. “Doing a fucking stellar job with the ones who’re still there, huh? How long it take you to even notice he was gone?”

“Fuck you,” she spat. “You don’t know shit about me.”

“I know you can’t find a fucking job,” Mickey said. “Convicted felons ain’t exactly hot on anyone’s hiring list, huh? How you think you’re gonna pay for meds? Know your fucking squirrel fund’s not gonna cover that. I have a job. So does Mandy. So does Ian, if Mandy can keep holding ‘em off from firing him. We have money here. We got a place, and he’s—he was happy, before this all went to shit, okay? He’s not going anywhere.”

“Fine,” Fiona snapped. “Can I at least come see him?”

“You can’t cross fucking state lines,” Mickey said scornfully. Mickey was well aware what kind of restrictions came with parole. Not that anyone in his family had ever followed them, but still. They liked to know which laws and rules they were breaking.

“You think I give a shit about that right now?” She demanded. “Ian needs me.”

“Pretty sure the other ones need you to not get your ass back in the slammer,” Mickey pointed out.

Fiona breathed out harshly. “I might be able to get special permission from my PO. Where are you guys?”

“Not telling,” Mickey said. “Ask your PO first.”

“I can’t ask my PO to leave the state if I can’t tell her where I’m going,” Fiona said. “Can’t you at least tell me the city?”

“Fuck.” Mickey bit his lip. “No. Not yet. I gotta make sure Ian’s cool with you visiting.”

“Of course he would be,” Fiona said, and Mickey didn’t know her but he could hear hurt in her voice.

“He doesn’t want anybody around right now,” Mickey said. “He won’t even let me—” He cut himself off. He wasn’t going to cry about not getting to sleep next to Ian to her.

“Why’re you so fucking paranoid about us knowing where you are?” Fiona asked.

“My dad,” Mickey said.

“What about him?” Fiona asked. “He’s back in jail again.”

Mickey rolled his eyes. “Yeah, I know that.”

“He’s locked up, so can you at least give me an _idea_ of where you are?”

Mickey deliberated for a second. Terry wouldn’t be locked up forever, and it seemed less likely than ever that they’d be able to just pick up and run again if he found them. On the other hand, maybe seeing his siblings would help Ian. Why did Mickey think he’d be enough?

“You can’t tell anyone,” Mickey finally said. “If my dad finds out…I know no one gives a shit if he kills me, but he’ll kill Ian, too. You got it?”

“What the fuck did Ian ever do to him?” Fiona asked, sounding offended. Mickey actually held the phone away from his ear and looked at it in disbelief.

“What, are you serious?” He asked incredulously. “You don’t know?”

“Know what?” She asked.

“Oh my God,” Mickey breathed. “We ran off _together_. My dad fucking caught us. We’re—whatever.”

“Holy shit,” Fiona said. “What? You’re gay?”

“Shut the fuck up,” Mickey said reflexively.

“So wait, you were two-timing my brother with some whore?” Fiona demanded.

“Tell me you’re not that fucking dumb,” Mickey said scornfully. “My dad _caught us_. You think I had a choice?”

“Holy _shit,_ ” Fiona repeated, stronger this time. “Jesus Christ.”

“You get it now?” Mickey asked. “He cannot find us.”

“No,” Fiona said. “Okay. I’ll make sure.”

Mickey took a deep breath. He bit his lip and shook his head. “Minneapolis.”

“Minnesota?”

“There another fucking Minneapolis?”

“How the fuck should I know?” Fiona asked. “Just making sure.”

“Fuck,” Mickey said, fear gripping his heart now that he’d told someone where to find them. “Fuck. Just—no one can blab, you hear me? Don’t go telling the little ones. I know that fucking sister of yours has a big fucking mouth.”

“Debs wouldn’t say anything if she knew it could get Ian hurt,” Fiona said defensively.

“I don’t know who I can trust,” Mickey said clearly. “I wouldn’t be telling you jack shit, but Ian…” He swallowed. “I don’t know. If you can help Ian, fine.”

Fiona was quiet for a second. “Thank you,” she said. “Thanks for looking out for him.”

Mickey didn’t know what to say to that. He certainly couldn’t tell her he’d do pretty much anything for Ian at this point. He shrugged, even though she couldn’t see him. “Whatever.”

“Okay,” Fiona said. “I’ll talk to my PO. If she says yes, you’ll give me your address?”

Mickey made a face. He did not like that idea. “We’ll see,” was all he could commit to just then. Fiona kind of snorted, but she didn’t argue. Mickey hung up. He pressed his hands against his face, trying to breathe normally.

He stretched back on the couch. All he could hear was Musse’s voice in his head, telling him Ian felt like shit and might hurt himself once they got him on the meds. Mickey looked up at the ceiling. There was a weird stain up there Ian had said looked like a snail when they first noticed it.

“Look, Mick,” he’d said, pointing up at it and laughing. They’d fucked on the garage-sale couch to christen it, though Mickey was pretty sure they were both going to pick something up from it, and then they were just lying there together. “There’s his little eyes, and there’s his house on his back.”

“Dragging your house around like that would fucking suck,” Mickey said, tongue loose with endorphins.

“Yeah,” Ian agreed. “Glad we have ours here.” He’d grinned that dopy little grin and leaned in for a kiss.

Mickey got up off the couch. He went into the bedroom and crawled into bed. “You don’t have to talk to me,” he mumbled. “But I’m sleeping here.”

Just being in the same space as Ian again was settling his chest for the first time in five days. Not all the way, because Ian still wasn’t being _Ian_ , but at least he could close his eyes and listen to Ian breathe. That was the same. Ian still smelled the same. Just feeling him there beside Mickey was helping him get to sleep. That probably meant something big that Mickey wasn’t really ready to think about yet.

“Why’d you get a doctor?” Ian whispered. Mickey jumped. He wasn’t expecting Ian to say anything.

“’Cause you’re sick, man,” Mickey said. “I can’t—I’m freaking the fuck out.”

“How’d you get him to come here?” Ian asked.

Mickey rolled over to face Ian. He wanted to touch him so badly, but he held back. He’d already touched Ian today, and he didn’t want to push his luck. Ian hadn’t exactly been responding well to Mickey touching him.

“You know that guy I work with, Abdi?” Mickey said. Ian nodded. “That shrink’s his cousin. He called him and got him to come. And he’s—” Mickey swallowed hard. He was pretty sure Ian would like this part, if he could make himself say it. “He’s, uh, married. To a dude.”

Ian didn’t really react. “How do you know?”

“Abdi told me. When I…” Mickey bit his lip. “Told him ‘bout us.” It wasn’t a totally accurate description of what had happened, really, but still. That was the basic premise of the conversation. If this had been a normal day, with the old Ian, Ian would’ve whooped happily, grabbed Mickey’s face and kissed him, laughed giddily.

But today, with this new Ian, his eyes just filled with tears. “You should leave,” he said.

“Ian, I’m fucking tired and that couch sucks ass to sleep on,” Mickey said. “You can stand me here for one night. If you’re so pissed about it, _you_ go sleep out there.”

“I don’t mean go sleep on the couch,” Ian said. His voice was all hoarse. He wasn’t drinking enough water. “I mean _go_. Why would you want to stay here? With me? Like this?”

Mickey couldn’t help himself; he put his hand on Ian’s face. “Where would I go without you?” He asked softly. “I can’t—I mean, shit. Come on. You…you saved me.” He felt kind of stupid saying it, but maybe Ian needed to hear it.

“This isn’t saving you,” Ian said. “You should go be free,” Ian added, all choked up, too fervent.

Mickey thought for a second. “Ian, what you and I have _makes_ me free.” He leaned in and kissed Ian’s dry, cracked lips. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Ian was crying, but he didn’t say anything else. He let Mickey hang onto him for a few more minutes, even pressed a kiss against Mickey’s neck. But then he was shrinking away again. Mickey didn’t mind so much. He could see what Ian was thinking now, why he’d been shying away from Mickey and wanted to be left alone. Ian thought he could push Mickey away for his own good. He thought if he was an asshole, Mickey would leave.

Fuck that. Mickey made his choice seven months ago in the basement of the VFW. He was staying right here with Ian.

 

The apartment was dirty. Not _that_ dirty, because Ian had cleaned a few days before he went all zombie, but he usually cleaned like every week. Some stuff he cleaned more than once a week—he swept the kitchen all the time. He said the dirty kitchen floor drove him nuts.

It wasn’t the kitchen floors that finished that job, Mickey thought wryly.

But maybe it wasn’t helping. The air in their bedroom was getting rank, because it was dirty in there. Ian was a lump in the sheets, and Mickey’s clothes were all over, and the floor wasn’t vacuumed. The bathroom was kind of gross. Mickey wouldn’t have even known what a gross bathroom _meant_ until Ian kept theirs clean. But now he knew. And he knew theirs was gross. Ian went in there to piss, but he wasn’t up to cleaning right now. Maybe that bothered him. Maybe he hated the gross bathroom and not cleaning it made him feel worse.

Mickey had hoped Mandy would do it. She was the only one who ever cleaned back in Chicago. But she didn’t seem to notice. She was still operating under a Milkovich threshold of cleanliness, and that meant they still had at least another month before she’d think it was dirty enough to do anything. If Mickey didn’t want the place to look like the flophouse he grew up in, he’d have to take matters into his own hands.

Mickey wasn’t exactly a master cleaner. He didn’t really have a lot of practice in cleaning. Or any, pretty much. He’d never even helped Ian clean at the store, back when he would’ve gotten paid for it. But he’d seen Ian clean. When they were staying in the motel, there wasn’t any room to miss it.

Mickey started by raising the blinds in their bedroom and opening the window. Ian grimaced and made a noise of protest.

“Need some fresh air in here, man,” Mickey said. He picked up all the clothes he’d left laying around and threw them into the hamper. Ian was the one who did laundry most of the time, so Mickey was almost out of clean clothes. Not that that had ever bothered him before, but he usually at least wore clean underwear. Most of the time. If he could.

“You want me to wash anything?” Mickey asked breezily. Ian squinted at him. For one thing, Mickey didn’t do laundry unless Ian threatened to withhold sex, and even that had only worked like three times. Ian broke a hell of a lot faster than Mickey did. Now Mickey felt a little guilty about that, since that was apparently a sign he should’ve been looking out for. For another thing, Ian had been bare-ass naked for almost two weeks straight now. Musse had said the pills might take some time to work. Mickey hadn’t realized they would take a _long_ time to work.

“Okay,” Mickey said. He did grab some of Ian’s gross running clothes he hadn’t washed before he went to bed and didn’t get out. Mickey grabbed a handful of quarters from Ian’s laundry stash and went down to the laundry room in the basement of their building to throw his clothes in. He bit his lip. Laundry detergent. He’d left that upstairs, and he sure as hell wasn’t leaving his stuff down here without starting it.

He shrugged and closed the washer. Whatever. At least they’d be sort of clean. Cleaner than they were. He went back upstairs and poked his head in to check on Ian. Still lying there in the same position.

“You asleep?” Mickey asked, pulling the vacuum in. He had genuinely never worked a vacuum in his life. Ian blinked at him.

“You even know how to turn that on?”

“Fuck off,” Mickey said with a laugh, just glad Ian was talking. “I can figure it out.”

He plugged it in, and then he was sort of stumped. There were a bunch of different buttons on it. He squinted at the little diagrams, trying to figure out what meant _on_.

“It’s on the handle,” Ian told him. Mickey looked, and there it was—a lightbulb. Mickey pressed it and jumped a little at how loud it was. Ian almost cracked a smile. That was a win in Mickey’s book. He shoved the surprisingly heavy vacuum around the room a few times. He sort of shrugged and turned it off.

“Well, that wasn’t so hard,” he said. Ian didn’t say anything, but his eyes looked amused. “Don’t think that means I’m doing this shit all the time,” Mickey warned, and Ian’s lips ticked up. Mickey was pretty proud of himself, truth be told. He’d figured something out. He was _helping_.

He vacuumed the living room, too, and he even took out the little hose thing to do the couch. Then he took the vacuum back to its little corner in the kitchen and swept the floor. Ian usually mopped, too, but that seemed like a lot of work and Mickey didn’t think the floor was that bad. He’d gotten into the habit of at least putting a paper towel over shit he spilled, so there wasn’t a lot of crusted on shit.

He stared at the dishwasher for a while, trying to figure out what to press to get it to start. He could see the start button, but there were like four other buttons. There was a setting for pots and pans. Mickey opened the dishwasher. There were pots and pans in there. He hit that one. Nothing happened. He hit the start button. It started. He crowed a little, proud of himself. He was the fucking king of cleaning.

He remembered his clothes downstairs and went to put them in the dryer. The motel dryers had been super shitty, and they’d ended up having to dry stuff on their heater. Mickey hated the way clothes felt air dried. He wasn’t about that shit. He grumbled a little when he put the quarters in. This was fucking expensive. Ian used up this many quarters for them every fucking week? Ridiculous. They were going to have to stop washing their clothes so often.

Mickey went back upstairs to tackle the bathroom. He found cleaning stuff under the sink, but there were two different brushes. One had a long handle and one had a short handle.

“Ian!” He called. “Why’s there two brush things in here?”

He didn’t really expect an answer. Ian hadn’t even talked in a normal speaking volume in nearly two weeks, let alone yelling loud enough to be heard in the bathroom. He’d mostly just wanted Ian to know he was cleaning the bathroom. But to Mickey’s surprise, he heard Ian answer, sort of weakly, “One’s for the toilet.”

“The one with the long handle?” Mickey checked. That made sense. Who wanted to get up close and personal with a toilet?

“Yeah,” Ian said, barely loud enough for Mickey to hear. Mickey nodded to himself. Okay. How hard could this be? He squirted stuff in the toilet and swirled the brush around. He flushed. The toilet was visibly cleaner. He held out his hands in triumph.

“Fucking right,” he muttered to himself. He shoved the brush thing back under the sink and took out the other brush. He did the sink first, and he had to move a ton of Mandy’s shit to get to the counter. The bathroom was way dirtier since she’d gotten here. She got makeup all over. She always had, but Mickey had hardly noticed with the inches-thick layer of scum on everything in their old house. Now he noticed, and it was fucking annoying.

He got sick of scrubbing out the bathtub after about two seconds, so he just turned on the shower and washed the cleaner off. That had to count for something, right? What, like he was going to sit here and scrub the whole fucking thing? Yeah, right.

The cleaner stuff did not wipe off the mirror. The brush just made it frothy and clouded up the mirror. “Shit,” Mickey said. “Ian!” He yelled. “The mirror’s like…ruined.”

“You gotta use the mirror stuff,” Ian said.

“The fuck?” Mickey said to himself. He looked under the sink again. There was one that said glass cleaner. Huh. He sprayed that on the whole soapy mess and remembered Ian using paper towels for this part. Mickey dumped the brush and went to the kitchen for paper towels. He was pretty sure he ended up using a shit ton more paper towels than Ian ever had to, and the mirror was still a little cloudy when he finished, but whatever. At least Mandy’s fucking makeup and toothpaste wasn’t all over it anymore.

He huffed, pretty damn pleased with himself. He could kind of see why Ian liked this. He could see how much cleaner the bathroom was than when he’d started. It was kind of nice. He’d finished it. And he knew Ian would be happy about it.

“Fuck, the clothes,” he remembered, and he had to run downstairs because he _knew_ people tossed other people’s shit out the second it ended. He did it to people every time he had to do laundry. Luckily, it was normal working hours, so there weren’t a lot of people trying to use the laundry room. He dumped everything into the basket and took it back upstairs.

“Ian, you gotta come look,” Mickey said. “I cleaned the shit out of this place.”

He waited for a second, but Ian didn’t say anything. He must’ve exhausted himself giving Mickey cleaning tips. Mickey told himself not to be disappointed. It wasn’t like a clean bathroom was actually something to get excited about. He was just being stupid.

“Did Ian get up and clean?” Mandy asked that night when she got home from work. Mickey had even emptied the dishwasher when it was done, too.

“No,” he said. He didn’t tell her he did it. He was the only other person there, so it would be obvious, and he felt kind of stupid over how proud he was. It was the most basic normal human shit. There was no reason to think it mattered. It hadn’t gotten Ian out of bed, so why did Mickey think it was some big deal?

“ _You_ did?” Mandy asked incredulously. Mickey just shrugged, feeling his cheeks go hot. Mandy stared at him for a second. “It’s nice,” she said, kind of soft. “You did a good job.”

Mickey just shrugged again, not wanting her to know that he actually felt good hearing that. He was a fucking pussy, getting excited about praise over cleaning. Jesus.

But that night, Ian got up to piss. When he came back to bed, he put his hand on Mickey’s chest. “I’m glad you cleaned,” he whispered.

Mickey’s chest swelled with pride, no matter how much he told himself to put a lid on it. “Know you like it clean,” he said. “Thought it might make you feel better.” He looked at Ian kind of hopefully. Ian smiled. It was weak, but it was something.

“Thanks, Mick,” he said. “It did.”

And that was something Mickey let himself be proud of.

 

“Okay,” Mickey said. “Good morning, sleepy face. Breakfast time.” He shook out Ian’s pills and uncapped the Gatorade for him. “Open up.”

Ian didn’t fight him. They were on day eight of the pills—three pills, twice a day, with food. They’d cost a shit-ton and Mickey just hoped Ian was going to get back to work soon.

“You don’t have insurance?” The pharmacist had asked when Mickey went to fill the prescription. She’d winced a little, but in a sympathetic way. “I’d tell you to ask your psychiatrist for the generics, but these aren’t the kind of medications you want to play around with. Stick to the dosage your doctor gave you, okay?”

Mickey didn’t bother correcting her that they weren’t for him. He forked over the cash and left. Ian hadn’t said a word about taking the pills, but Mickey didn’t necessarily count that as a good thing. He hadn’t said a word about much of anything. He was eating and drinking now, at least. He took the pills when Mickey or Mandy handed them to him and he swallowed down whatever soup or sandwich they made him eat to go with them. He’d learned the hard way the kind of intestinal havoc the meds gave him on an empty stomach.

“Okay, good,” Mickey said after Ian swallowed them down. He was getting into the habit of saying filler stuff, dumb shit that didn’t matter because the silence was killing him. He kissed the top of Ian’s hair just because he needed to feel like Ian was still fucking alive. “You want to come out or you want me to bring you food in here?”

Ian hesitated. “Could you…” His voice was getting stronger these days. “How much time before you have to leave for work?”

“An hour,” Mickey lied. He needed to leave in the next fifteen minutes, but what the fuck ever. If Ian was going to ask him something, Mickey was going to do it.

“Do you think you could help me take a shower?” Ian asked quietly, not meeting Mickey’s eyes. Mickey had to take a little breath before he could answer. This was the first time Ian had shown interest in anything in two weeks.

“Yeah, course I can,” Mickey said, trying to keep his voice light. He raised his eyebrows. “Could suck your dick while I’m at it, if you want.” He was trying to sound casual, but Jesus Christ, he was dying. He hadn’t gone two weeks without fucking Ian since he _started_ fucking Ian, except while he was in juvie. Ian didn’t smell his best at the moment, since he hadn’t showered in two weeks, but that would never stop Mickey. Mickey used to go weeks without showering plenty of times. If it wasn’t the water being shut off, it was Terry deciding who got to shower just to fuck with them all. He never let Mickey shower when he was on one of those trips. Ian had never complained, so it didn’t seem fair not to give him the same courtesy. Besides, Mickey could hardly smell anyway thanks to all his broken noses and chain smoking.

Ian shrugged. “Haven’t gotten hard in weeks.”

Mickey couldn’t help the grin breaking out across his face. Ian was _talking_. Ian was _engaged_. “Oh, but you haven’t let me try,” he pointed out lecherously, licking his lips slowly the way Ian always honed in on. He leaned down and nudged his nose along Ian’s. “I’ll get you hard, Gallagher.”

Ian shrugged again. “You can try.”

It wasn’t exactly a glowing endorsement, but whatever. Mickey could work with what he got. “You gotta eat first, though,” Mickey said. “I ain’t risking you getting the fucking runs while I’m down there.”

Ian _laughed_. Mickey almost had tears in his eyes, holy fuck. It wasn’t a full laugh—hardly more than a few breaths, really—but it was more than Mickey had heard in two weeks and it had him almost giddy, punch-drunk off the mere idea of Ian laughing. Ian let Mickey pull him to his feet and lead him to the kitchen.

“Hi,” Mandy said, surprised but trying to play it cool. They’d both instinctively decided Ian wouldn’t want them to make a big deal about him being up and around. “Good morning. You want—I can make you something. Eggs?”

Ian’s hands were shaking a little. Mickey knew that could be a side effect from the meds. He hoped that was all it was, and Ian wasn’t freaking out or something. “Just some toast is okay,” Ian said.

“Okay,” Mandy said. “You want jam?”

“Sure,” Ian said. He sounded exhausted already. “Thanks.”

“We’re gonna take a shower,” Mickey reported as Mandy dropped a slice of bread into the toaster. Mandy’s eyebrows flew up.

“Good,” she said casually. “You both smell.” She knew better than to point out that Mickey just showered last night.

“Sorry,” Ian said, looking down at the table. “Sorry I haven’t been…” He licked his lips. “I’m starting to feel better, kind of.”

Mandy leaned down and put her arms around him. She was used to people smelling bad, too, so she didn’t even flinch. “I’m so glad,” she murmured into his ear. She smacked a kiss onto his cheek. “Score one for doctors, huh?”

“Guess they know what they’re talking about sometimes,” Mickey agreed. He kicked Ian gently under the table. “Gotta get you some fucking Chapstick or something, though. Your lips are crusty as shit.”

“Rich coming from you,” Ian said. His voice was still a little off, kind of thin and hollow, but he was busting Mickey’s balls again. Mickey laughed a little harder than he normally would. Mandy did, too. From the look on Ian’s face, he could tell they were trying a bit too hard to be normal, but he let it slide. He ate the toast Mandy handed over and leaned on Mickey a little as they headed to the bathroom.

It was kind of weird, washing Ian. They’d showered together before, but it was mostly just so they could fuck in there, though shower sex was _not_ Mickey’s favorite kind of sex. It was slippery and hard to get enough traction for a good pounding. And in terms of blowjobs, getting on his knees on the hard shower floor wasn’t exactly fun. But the point was, they usually fooled around and washing was an afterthought they both did for themselves.

Now, though, it was like Ian was too exhausted to lift his arms. Mickey washed his hair for him, and it felt sort of weird. He had this feeling he couldn’t name rising up in his chest as he looked into Ian’s eyes and scratched lightly at his scalp. It was like…he wasn’t sure. He almost wanted to cry, chest feeling warm and full. He just knew he wanted to make sure Ian was okay, always, and he’d do anything he had to for him.

He tried to keep his hands to himself, mostly, while he was soaping Ian down, because Ian hadn’t seemed _opposed_ to fooling around, but he hadn’t exactly seemed super into it, either. It was the first time in two weeks he’d been out of bed for longer than it took to piss. Maybe he wasn’t ready.

But Mickey’s hands weren’t really in the habit of being around Ian’s dick without touching it, and Ian raised his eyebrows. “You really want to try?” He asked.

“Fuck, yeah,” Mickey said, not even caring how absolutely desperate he sounded.

Ian leaned back against the shower wall. “Okay. Go ahead.”

Mickey didn’t waste a second before dropping to his knees. It hurt, but he didn’t care. He knew without a doubt just then he was definitely gay, because he practically came just from getting his mouth on Ian’s dick. _Finally_.

After a minute or two of his best work, though, it was kind of obvious this wasn’t going to happen. He pulled off and looked up at Ian. Maybe it was just the water in the shower, but he was pretty sure Ian had tears in his eyes.

“My fucking dick doesn’t work anymore,” he said, voice breaking.

Mickey didn’t know what to say. This was a side effect from the medication, too. He’d read the entire pamphlet thing that came with Ian’s medicine, every last word on every single page, the computer open next to him so he could google all the words he didn’t understand. He knew this was normal. He knew he should’ve expected this. It didn’t mean it didn’t give him a lump in his throat.

“Well, okay,” Mickey said, hoping he sounded cheerful. He didn’t really know what cheerful was supposed to sound like, though, so he wasn’t sure he was doing it right. “It’s, you know. It’s the first day you’re out of bed, right? Maybe you just need a day or two.” He stood up. “You are looking kinda pale. Maybe the blood’s not flowing, you know what I mean?”

Ian snorted. “Yeah, sure.” He shook his head. Then he looked down at Mickey’s dick. Mickey couldn’t help that he was hard. Being naked with Ian was going to do that to him every time. Shit, being _clothed_ with Ian used to do that, back when he was only seeing Ian to fuck. And he’d just been on his knees with Ian’s dick in his mouth. Of course he was hard. “Come here,” Ian said.

“You don’t have to,” Mickey said weakly, but he couldn’t hold back a little moan when Ian touched him. Two weeks was so fucking long, especially after Ian being all sex crazy for months beforehand. He’d gone from a hundred to zero with no warning at all.

“Maybe I want to,” Ian said, pumping Mickey just the way he liked. “Ever think of that?”

“Okay, sure,” Mickey managed to say. Higher brain function was not exactly in the cards just then. He leaned his forehead against Ian’s shoulder and relished the feeling of being close to him again, breathing him in, touching his skin. “Fuck,” he swore. “God, Ian.”

Mickey wasn’t even embarrassed when he barely lasted two minutes. He was desperate as fuck. Ian held his hand under the spray and gave Mickey a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Missed me, huh?”

“Sure fucking did,” Mickey agreed. But he thought about what Musse said, all that shit about Ian feeling like a burden. He didn’t want Ian thinking he just missed getting off. Sure, he’d definitely missed that, but this was about Ian. It was a little scary to think, but not nearly as scary as it would’ve been seven months ago. It wasn’t like either of them were under the impression he ran off with Ian because Ian was a good lay.

“Missed, uh, I missed you laughing,” Mickey made himself say. He couldn’t look at Ian while he said it, but it wasn’t a lie.

Ian looked up quickly. “What?”

“I missed sleeping by you,” Mickey said, quieter this time. That one felt more embarrassing, somehow. The shitty couch wasn’t the whole reason Mickey couldn’t sleep for those four days.

“I didn’t really mean for you to be out on the couch all those nights,” Ian admitted. “Sorry.”

Mickey shrugged. “I could’ve pushed it. I was—” He pushed his wet hair off his forehead. “I was scared.”

“Me too,” Ian whispered. “Still am.”

“Me too,” Mickey parroted. He gave Ian a shaky little smile. Then the water ran cold, and they both yelped. Mickey turned the water off fast, because Ian seemed to be freezing all the time these days, even though it was summer. As far as Mickey could tell, that wasn’t because of the medication, and Ian’d been bundling himself up those four days in bed before the drugs, too. Maybe it was that whole depression thing. It made him cold or something.

Ian started laughing, just a little bit. It made Mickey’s heart jump. “How long’ve we been in here?” Ian asked. “You’re gonna be late for work.”

Mickey laughed, too, and he put his arms on either side of Ian’s head and leaned in to kiss him. “Oh, I’m definitely gonna be late for work,” he breathed. He already was, actually, but he couldn’t say that since he’d lied about when he was working.

Ian laughed again, brushing his thumb against Mickey’s cheek. “You don’t care if you’re late?”

Mickey pressed forward so they were chest to chest, skin to skin. He pressed his nose into Ian’s hair for a second, bolder with Ian so close and no eye contact, intoxicated off hearing Ian laugh so much this morning. “I’m in the best place on earth,” Mickey murmured. “Don’t want to be anywhere else.”

“You really mean that?” Ian asked shakily.

Mickey still couldn’t quite look at him, not straight on. But he could nod, and he could kiss Ian. He was very capable of both those things. He threaded his fingers in Ian’s hair and kissed him another time.

“I mean it,” he said. Ian smiled at him, and Mickey felt the world click back into place.

 

“How’s Ian?” Abdi asked at work. He’d asked every day, but Mickey hadn’t had much to report. He sounded kind of worried, because he probably thought Mickey being an hour and a half late meant something bad. But Mickey couldn’t hold back a big smile, and Abdi laughed a little.

“He was up and moving around,” Mickey said. “Took a shower.” That probably wasn’t something to be so proud of, but he was.

“Man, are you late because you were getting it on?” Abdi asked teasingly.

Mickey froze automatically. It was one thing for him to feel a bunch of gay shit, literally, in the shower with Ian and not freak out about it. But Abdi was asking right here in the open. Mickey darted his eyes around. There was no one there. They were waiting for a plane to come in so they could unload.

“Sorry,” Abdi said, brow furrowed.

“I…” Mickey took a deep breath. “No one’s ever known,” he mumbled. “About me. I mean, except Ian, obviously.”

“No one?” Abdi asked. “Not ever?”

“Never,” Mickey said. “My dad would’ve killed me. When he caught us he tried—” He cut himself off. He couldn’t talk about that day.

“Shit,” Abdi said. “So I’m like…the first person you ever came out to?”

Part of Mickey wanted to bristle at the phrasing, but he swallowed that down. Abdi was a good guy. He’d proven he could be trusted. He’d been a hell of a lot better to Mickey than Mickey ever had been to him.

“I mean, my dad walked in on us,” he pointed out. “So he found out. Ian’s dad caught us once, too, actually. Mandy knows now. And the dude who owned the store we worked at caught us. He shot me.”

“He—what?” Abdi asked, voice going high with surprise.

“Oh, he was a pedo,” Mickey said with a shrug. “He was fucking Ian before I was, and he was pissed that Ian was fucking me.”

Abdi’s mouth was hanging open. “What the fuck. What happened? I mean, obviously you couldn’t tell the cops.”

Mickey shrugged again. “He told ‘em I was robbing the place. And I mean, I did do that…more than once. And, you know, the cops all already knew me. So I went to juvie.”

“He was a pedophile who shot you and _you_ got locked up?” Abdi asked. He shook his head. “Wow, it really pays to be straight.”

Mickey barked out a surprised laugh. “Tell me about it. I tried as hard as I fucking could, believe me. But I’m…” He licked his lips. He’d never said this out loud. He’d barely even _thought_ it. “I’m gay.” The sentence felt weird in his mouth. He swallowed hard and looked away.

Abdi gave him a minute. The walkie-talkie screeched at them and told them the flight coming in was late. Shitty summer storm. “Well, for being a secret, it doesn’t sound like you’re very sneaky,” Abdi pointed out.

Mickey’s mouth dropped open in shock. Then he laughed. “The fuck, dude,” he said. “That’s so fucking rude.”

Abdi laughed, too. “I’m just saying. A lot of people walked in on you. And you didn’t even actually _tell_ me. I could see it all over your face.”

Mickey could feel himself blushing. That was fucking embarrassing. He’d always prided himself on being hard, on hiding his feelings. Obviously he wasn’t as good at it as he’d given himself credit for. He shrugged, unsure what to say.

“Okay, wait,” Abdi said. “We never talked about you only being eighteen.”

Mickey blew out a breath. “We got fake IDs when we got here ‘cause Ian’s only seventeen,” he said. “And we couldn’t put our actual names on a lease or anything in case my dad had guys paying attention. We figured we might as well be twenty-one and buy our own beer, you know?”

That made Abdi laugh. But then he frowned. “Seventeen’s kind of young for a bipolar diagnosis.”

Mickey’s stomach clenched. “That mean something’s wrong? He’s not really bipolar?”

“No, sorry,” Abdi said quickly. “It’s not like that doesn’t happen. It’s just the younger end of when people typically have their first psychotic breaks.”

“Psychotic break?” Mickey echoed. “He was just staying in bed.”

“Well, all the stuff before was mania,” Abdi said. “The running around and not sleeping and stuff. Not really bad mania, from the sounds of it. Sometimes people can do some seriously weird shit.”

Mickey’s chest felt tight. “Like run away?”

“Yeah, when it’s untreated, disappearing for a while’s not unusual,” Abdi said. Then he realized what he’d said and his eyes went wide. “Shit, Mickey, I wasn’t saying—I’m sure that’s not why Ian came with you. I mean, it sounds like your dad was pretty awful. Ian probably just wanted to make sure you’re safe.”

Did Ian only come find Mickey and beg him to run because he was out of his fucking mind? Pretty much anyone would say choosing Mickey Milkovich and leaving with him was batshit. Who in their right mind would want to leave their family to live with Mickey? He couldn’t breathe.

“Shit,” Abdi said again. “Look, I don’t know the details, but…but you said your dad caught you. So then you ran off, right? I don’t know if I’d call that illogical, you know what I mean?”

“Impulsive,” Mickey said hoarsely.

Abdi cringed. “Well…” There was no arguing what they’d done wasn’t impulsive. Mickey had just thought it was out of necessity.

“I thought it was ‘cause—we had to go right then. I was getting married. I thought that was why he wanted to go right then.”

Abdi stared at him. “You were getting married?” He echoed incredulously.

Mickey blinked. “Uh, yeah. My dad made me fuck this hooker, she got pregnant, my dad was making me marry her. Ian showed up, we fucked, he asked me to run away. Mandy distracted everyone upstairs waiting for the wedding to start to buy us some time.”

Abdi didn’t say anything for a long, long few minutes. Long enough for Mickey to realize he’d just poured out his darkest fucking secret to a guy whose last name he couldn’t remember. Jesus Christ. Maybe _he_ was the one having a psychotic break.

“Mickey,” Abdi said. “Your life is _fucked up_.”

Mickey had never heard Abdi say fuck. He swore, sometimes, but not often, and never anything other than damn, hell, or shit. It startled a surprised little laugh out of Mickey.

“Yeah,” Mickey said with a snort. “I fucking know that.” He rubbed at the back of his neck, feeling stupid. He needed to shut his fucking mouth. It just felt sort of nice to tell someone, to hear someone tell him how fucked all that was instead of telling him he should’ve just sucked it up and dealt with it the way the voice in the back of his head told him sometimes. Maybe that was why Ian talked so much.

Or used to, anyway.

“But sounds like Ian’s feeling better?” Abdi asked cautiously. He could probably tell Mickey felt weird right now.

“Yeah, he said he is,” Mickey said. “Hasn’t said anything about wanting to hurt himself, but me and Mandy made sure one of us is always home with him just in case.” It made him breathless, thinking about Ian hurting himself, but he told himself they had to be realistic. It was something that could happen. It could happen a lot more likely if they didn’t do anything about it. Mickey was a pretty big believer in ignoring problems and repressing shit, but he couldn’t afford to fuck up in this case.

He wasn’t going to ignore something that could hurt Ian. Not anymore.

“His siblings are coming to visit,” Mickey offered, because that seemed like the kind of thing Abdi would think was good. Mickey still had his doubts, and even Ian was a little unsure, but Fiona’s PO gave her permission and she’d made it pretty clear she was coming. She told him she’d come to Minneapolis and search every house if she had to. The thought of her walking around saying his name to random people made his skin crawl.

“That’s awesome,” Abdi said. “Or—is it?”

Mickey shrugged. “Not really for me, but Ian’s all into his family. They fucking hug and shit. I don’t know.”

Abdi snorted. “How horrible,” he said sarcastically.

“Yeah,” Mickey agreed seriously. He flipped Abdi off for making fun of him. “Gonna be fucking loud. There’s like a million of ‘em.” There were five of them, same as Mickey’s family, but it always felt like more. They were all closer in age, for one thing, and they were just always _around_ all the time.

Mickey was really nervous about the Gallaghers coming to visit, actually. Even more now that he was worried Ian only took off with him because of the bipolar shit. He was so scared Ian was going to take one look at his siblings and realize he shouldn’t stay there with Mickey. They were his family.

In Mickey’s eyes, he and Ian were family. And Ian had said that, too. But Ian had an _actual_ family to go back to. Mickey didn’t have that. He had Mandy, but he was actually kind of surprised she’d come out here at all and sort of thought if she hadn’t been dating some dickhead who beat up on her she might not have. They weren’t brother and sister who needed to be close to each other, really. Mickey liked having her here so he didn’t have to worry about her, but he was pretty sure that was one-sided.

The Gallaghers, though—they were always worrying about each other. Back when they worked at the Kash and Grab, the thing Ian talked about most was his family. What his siblings were doing, how Carl was in trouble, how many new words Liam learned, what could he do to help Fiona out. Mickey couldn’t compete with all that.

He woke up the morning the Gallaghers were getting to town with a heavy pit in his stomach. He was terrified. He snapped at Ian to hurry up and take his pills and he snapped at Mandy when she tried to offer him breakfast. He saw Ian and Mandy exchange a look over his head and he couldn’t even be happy that was back to normal. He chain-smoked through the morning.

Mandy had a shift at the diner. She paused in front of him in the living room for a second. “He’s not going to leave,” Mandy said quietly.

“How the fuck do you know?” Mickey snapped.

Mandy sighed. “Well, I guess I don’t,” she admitted. “Except I know him. So do you, you know. He doesn’t do things without a reason. So I guess your ass is a reason.” Mickey looked up, kind of shocked that she’d mentioned his ass. That was specific. She rolled her eyes. “You guys fuck really loudly,” she said. “So yeah, I know you take it.”

“Shut the fuck up,” he said reflexively. It came out half-hearted. She flipped him off and headed to the door.

“Could you please just try not to be an asshole to him? He’s worried about his family coming too, you know.”

She didn’t wait for an answer. She closed the door and Mickey felt like shit. He did know Ian was worried about seeing his siblings. He was worried they’d notice how pale he was, how skinny he was. The medicine could make him gain weight, but it had only been two weeks. In the past three weeks since this all started, he’d barely been eating. He ate when he took his meds, but he didn’t have much appetite otherwise. His ribs showed when he took off his shirt.

Mickey blew out a breath and rubbed his hands down his thighs. He shook his head at himself and went to the bedroom. Ian was sitting on the bed, up against the wall, knees drawn up to his chest. He looked up when Mickey came in. “Hi.”

“Hey,” Mickey said. “You…you good? You okay?”

Ian sighed. “I’m worried.”

“About what?” Mickey asked nervously.

“They’re going to look at me like I’m Monica,” Ian said quietly. Mickey didn’t know a whole lot about Ian’s mom. He knew she popped in and out pretty much whenever she wanted. He knew she’d tried to kill herself more than once, including that time at Thanksgiving Ian had told him about. He knew Ian said he hated her, but every time he said it, he sounded like he was trying to convince himself.

“You’re not, though. You’re Ian,” Mickey said, feeling stupid. Of course Ian knew that.

“Am I?” Ian asked. “Who’s Ian anymore, anyway?”

“What the fuck does that mean?” Mickey asked.

“I don’t feel like myself anymore,” Ian whispered. “I haven’t in a long time. And the meds…” He had tears in his eyes. “I hate them, Mick. They make me feel so empty.”

Mickey’s chest seized up in alarm. “They do?” Ian hadn’t made a peep about it until right now.

“I’m sorry,” Ian said. “I know you want me to take them—”

“I just want you to feel better,” Mickey said desperately. “If they don’t make you feel better, don’t fucking take them. But…” He faltered a little. “But they got you up and out of bed, Ian. You seem better to me.”

“It’s different,” Ian said.

“Different how?”

Ian shook his head, frustrated. “I don’t know. I just feel…I feel like a robot. I’m doing the stuff I’m supposed to, but I don’t _feel_ anything, Mickey.” He wiped a hand under his nose. “I don’t feel _you_.”

“I’m right here,” Mickey said, panicked. He got on the bed and crowded close to Ian. “Hey, I’m not going anywhere. I’m right here. I’m with you.”

“But I don’t feel the same way about you,” Ian said. Mickey’s heart stopped. He pulled back.

“Oh.”

“No, no, Mick, I don’t mean—” Ian pulled him back in. “I mean I _can’t_ feel it. It’s like there’s this door. Sometimes it opens a crack, and I can feel it. I know it’s still there. But it’s locked up.”

“What is?” Mickey asked, completely baffled. “What’s locked up?”

“My feelings,” Ian said. “My heart.”

This was so above Mickey’s pay grade it wasn’t funny. He had no idea what to say or how to fix this. But then someone was knocking on the door, and Ian blanched. They both knew it had to be the Gallaghers.

“I’ll tell ‘em to fuck off if you want me to,” Mickey vowed. “I don’t give a fuck what they have to say about it.”

Ian huffed, but he was smiling a little. “No,” he said. He put his hand on Mickey’s leg and squeezed. “I should see them.”

“You sure?” Mickey checked, hoping for a few reasons Ian would say no.

“Yeah,” Ian said. He put his hand on Mickey’s face and just looked at him for a minute. Mickey wondered if he was trying to open the door or what the fuck ever. His smile was kind of sad, so it must not have worked. Mickey was suddenly desperate to open it. He didn’t know what Ian meant or how to do that, but he felt like Ian was slipping through his fingers like sand. He had to fix this.

He surged forward and kissed Ian, pulled their faces together hard. He twisted his hands in Ian’s hair, slipped one hand down to slide up the back of Ian’s shirt. He bit gently at Ian’s lip. Ian’s family was pounding on the door now, but Mickey blocked them out. He had to make Ian feel this.

Ian smiled at him. He put his hand on Mickey’s cheek. “Okay,” he said quietly. He nodded a little. “Yeah, I felt that.”

“Good,” Mickey said breathlessly. He was sure feeling some things. They hadn’t fucked, in the strictest sense of the word, in three weeks now. It had been all hands and mouths the past week and a half since Ian started getting out of bed. And Mickey wasn’t going to complain about that, sure, even if Ian was only interested about every third day and Mickey could only get him off about half the time. But Mickey’s ass was feeling pretty left out. He wanted Ian to pound him like he always did. It was a total 180 from a few weeks ago when Mickey’s ass was needing a break. He could go back in time and punch his past self for not appreciating it when Ian was dishing it out.

Mickey gave himself a little shake. He had Ian here. That was going to be enough. If Ian never wanted to fuck him again…well, that would fucking suck. Mickey couldn’t really wrap his brain around that possible future. But what the fuck ever. He’d buy a fucking dildo if he had to. Ian here was better than Ian not being here, ass pounding or not.

He kissed Ian’s forehead and patted his cheek and said, “Come on. Your fucking sister’s gonna break our window if we don’t let her in.”

Ian huffed a little laugh. “Yeah, she might,” he agreed. He held Mickey’s hand coming out of the bedroom. He let go when they got to the door, and Mickey appreciated that. Just because Ian’s siblings knew didn’t mean he could handle them _seeing_.

Fiona had her fist raised to knock again when Ian opened the door. “Ian!” She cried, springing forward to hug him. Debbie followed hot on her heels. Carl was trying to play it cool, but he wasn’t really succeeding.

“Ian!” Liam yelled from Lip’s arms.

“Hey, buddy,” Ian said, muffled around Fiona’s hair. “Hi, guys. Oh, I missed you.”

“Come on,” Mickey said, trying not to sound harsh but probably failing because he always sounded harsh. “Don’t need to stand around on the doorstep all day.” He poked at Ian to get him to back up and take Fiona and Debbie with him so Carl and Lip could get in the door.

“Mickey,” Lip said stiffly as he walked in.

“Phillip,” Mickey responded, just to be a shit. Lip used to get pissed as hell when teachers tried calling him Phillip. Lip rolled his eyes, but he didn’t say anything. He set Liam down and Liam immediately attached himself to Ian’s leg.

“I missed you!” Liam told him.

Ian let go of his sisters to bend down and pick Liam up. “Oh, I missed you, too, buddy.” He closed his eyes while he squeezed Liam. Mickey felt a squirmy sense of worry again. Why would Ian choose Mickey over all this? All these people who came all this way to see him, who cared about him so much and didn’t have a problem saying it. Mickey cleaned a fucking bathroom. Whoop di fucking do.

“You guys hungry?” Ian asked. “That’s a long drive. Whose car did you take?”

“Amanda’s,” Lip said.

“That’s Lip’s hot, rich girlfriend,” Carl supplied.

“I don’t know if I’d call her my girlfriend,” Lip said, which seemed like a typical asshole thing for Lip to say. Ian must’ve agreed, because he snorted and rolled his eyes.

“I’m hungry,” Liam said.

“You’re hungry?” Ian asked. “Okay, how ‘bout some mac and cheese?”

“Mac and cheese!” Liam cheered. “With ketchup?”

“All the ketchup you want,” Ian promised, smacking a kiss on Liam’s cheek. They were all talking, Debbie talking about some boy she liked, Carl talking about detention, Fiona talking about the new job she’d started, Lip talking about classes. Even Liam was singing the ABCs. Mickey couldn’t breathe. They were so loud, and they were all talking at the same time so it was impossible to actually hear anyone. Mickey licked his lips and swallowed hard.

Lip caught his eye and tipped his head to the side, back toward the living room. Mickey didn’t really want to talk to Lip, but it couldn’t be worse than sweating his body weight off here in the noisy kitchen. He walked out and crossed his arms.

“What.”

“He doing okay?” Lip asked.

“Why don’t you ask him?” Mickey challenged.

Lip rolled his eyes. “I’ve tried, on the phone. He just says he’s fine.”

Mickey rubbed his face. “Yeah. I know.”

“So is he?”

Mickey had no idea. He would’ve said yes, before the conversation they had this morning. Ian was up. He’d showered three days in a row. He was taking his meds. He’d called the diner to see if his charm still worked—it did, and he had a shift scheduled for next week.

But Mickey couldn’t shake the image of the tears in Ian’s eyes as he said he didn’t know who he was anymore. He couldn’t feel his feelings or his heart or whatever. He couldn’t feel _Mickey_.

That wasn’t really shit Lip needed to worry about, though, was it? Lip wouldn’t care if Ian couldn’t feel Mickey. Lip would be happy about that. And if Ian hadn’t said anything, he probably didn’t want Lip to know. It sure as fuck wasn’t Mickey’s place to rat him out.

“He’s doing better,” Mickey said. “He’s going back to work next week.”

“Is that really a good idea?” Lip asked.

“He wants to,” Mickey said, bristling. “So yeah, it is.” He didn’t wait for Lip to say anything else. He went back to the kitchen just in time to hear Fiona say,

“So, you thinking about going back to school? Gonna need a high school diploma for the Army.”

Mickey’s stomach dropped. The Army. He knew that had been Ian’s goal forever, and he’d always thought it was dumb as shit. Who the fuck wanted to get their ass blown off on the other side of the world? Not Mickey, that was for sure. But the thought of Ian enlisting now made Mickey feel like he was drowning. All he could see was Ian, bleeding out somewhere with bombs dropping around him. Mickey’s nightmare scenario coming true.

Ian looked over at Mickey. He didn’t say anything, but something on his face calmed Mickey down a bit. “Not joining the Army anymore,” Ian said.

There was a beat of silence. “That’s been your plan since you were ten,” Fiona said.

Ian shrugged. “Plans change, Fi.”

Fiona glanced at Mickey and kind of laughed awkwardly. “Sure,” she agreed. “I just want to make sure they’re changing for the right reasons.”

Mickey stiffened. There was no doubt what she meant. She meant he was not a right reason. Ian narrowed his eyes a little, focusing hard on the spoon he was stirring around in the pot on the stove.

“I have the right reasons,” he said.

“Ian,” Fiona said. “I mean…come on.”

“Fiona,” Ian said sharply. “Don’t. You came here to see me because you want to support me, right? Don’t be an asshole about the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

Everyone turned to look at Mickey. He felt like one of those gazelles on Animal Planet, freezing before he decided if he needed to run or not. He most definitely wanted to get out of here, but he was pretty sure he couldn’t. God, he wished he’d worked today.

Not really, though. Ian was looking at him steadily, and later, when he didn’t have a thousand eyeballs on him, Mickey would be kind of thrilled that Ian said that. The best thing that ever happened to him. Christ. That was a lot to take in.

“Besides,” Ian said, quieter this time. “I don’t think the Army takes crazy people.”

There was a long silence while everyone realized he was probably right. Even if he did still want to join, they probably wouldn’t take him now with his bipolar diagnosis hanging over his head. Mickey didn’t want him to enlist, but it wasn’t like he was happy Ian didn’t even have the choice anymore.

“Okay,” Fiona said tightly. “How ‘bout I set the table?”

“Sure,” Ian said, overly pleasant. “There are bowls in the cupboard over there.”

Eating was tense. Mickey couldn’t even sit down. No one could, besides Liam, Debbie, and Fiona, because they still only had three chairs. But Mickey couldn’t stop pacing. At one point, on his trek past where Ian was leaning against the fridge, Ian stuck out his hand and bumped it against Mickey’s. He didn’t hold on, didn’t stop Mickey, didn’t even act like he’d noticed it happened, but it calmed Mickey down a little. He knew he was making everybody more on edge by being so strung out, but he couldn’t help it. He tried to take a deep breath and stop being so crazy.

Mickey didn’t care if he was annoying anyone else with how tense he was, but he didn’t want to fuck this up for Ian. Ian had been worried about them coming, but he’d been excited, too. He loved his siblings. He was happy to see them. He had a huge smile on his face while he listened to everyone chatter away and fill him in. He wasn’t saying much, and Mickey could see his hands trembling a little, but he didn’t look as bothered by it. Mickey just couldn’t stop thinking that Fiona and Lip had come here specifically to convince Ian to leave with them, and it was impossible to calm down with hat thought in his head.

“I’m gonna, uh…” Mickey jerked his head toward the door. “I’m gonna go smoke.”

Ian gave him a weird look. “You’ve never gone outside for that before.”

“Ian, I’m—” Mickey licked his lips. “I just need a little air.”

“Okay,” Ian said, brow furrowed.

Mickey didn’t want him to think Mickey was mad about them all being here or something. He’d promised Ian it was fine. It wasn’t, really, but if it made Ian feel better, he could suck it up for two days. He reached out and gave Ian’s shoulder a squeeze. “I’ll be back in a minute.”

Ian’s face cleared a little. Not totally, but enough to settle Mickey’s stomach. “Alright,” Ian said.

Mickey didn’t look back. He leaned against the railing in front of their door and closed his eyes, taking a long drag. They’d only been here an hour and a half and he was already losing it. They were so goddamn _loud_. The Milkovich house was loud, but it was usually a TV blaring and Terry yelling. No one else was ever very loud unless they were fighting. Terry didn’t like them to be. Mickey just couldn’t take all of them talking and everyone _looking_ at him and thinking he was trash. He knew they definitely were.

“Hey.” Mandy was home. She raised her eyebrows at him once he opened his eyes. “They all in there?”

“Yeah,” Mickey said. She leaned against the railing next to him and took his cigarette. Mickey realized, with a jolt, this was probably the first time she’d be seeing Lip in a while. He felt guilty at the fact that he hadn’t even stopped to consider how shitty that was for her. “You cool with this?”

Mandy rolled her eyes. “They’re already here.”

“Yeah,” Mickey agreed. “But, like…you okay?”

Mandy huffed. “Do I want to see Lip? No. But if it’s what Ian needs…” She shrugged.

Mickey nodded. “Yeah.” He took his cigarette back. “He’s happy they’re here.”

“Good,” she said. Neither of them said anything while they finished off the cigarette.

“Fiona talked about him going to the Army,” Mickey said after he flicked it away.

Mandy looked at him closely. “And?”

Mickey shrugged. “Said he doesn’t want to anymore. She said not to do it for the wrong reasons.”

Mandy’s face tightened. “You’re the wrong reason, huh?”

“Yep.” Mickey coughed. “I mean, she’s not really wrong. The fuck good am I to anyone? And that’s what he always wanted, right? Run off to the Army, be an officer. WestPoint. All that shit.”

Mandy scuffed her shoe against the concrete. “I didn’t know he told you all that.”

Mickey looked over at her. “He told me pretty much everything. I told him a lot of shit, too.”

Mandy swallowed. “Yeah.” She brushed her hair out of her eyes. “Even when I saw you guys at the wedding, I don’t think I realized…” She sighed. “I mean, you weren’t just fucking around, were you? You’re…he’s your boyfriend.”

Mickey sort of twitched at the word. But he didn’t think he could protest that. He didn’t think he _wanted_ to, which was terrifying. He pushed a hand through his hair. “You think I ran away from Terry because Ian’s a good fuck?”

Mandy shrugged. “I’d run away for less.”

Mickey huffed. “Yeah.”

“I guess I thought it was more like…you guys were fucking, and you’re gay, and it was a way to get away from Terry.”

“All that’s true,” Mickey pointed out.

“Yeah, but it wasn’t just about getting away from Terry, was it?” She asked softly. “It was getting to be _with_ Ian.”

Mickey shrugged, not meeting her eyes. Just because he was getting better about talking to Ian about his feelings didn’t mean that extended to anyone else. “Guess so.”

Mandy kind of sighed. “Yeah.”

“This mean something?” Mickey asked, kind of confused.

“Look, Ian told me about you,” Mandy said. “He didn’t tell me who you were, but he’d talk about this guy he was seeing.” Mandy grimaced. “I wouldn’t have asked for so many details if I’d known it was you, that’s for fucking sure.”

“Ah, fuck,” Mickey groaned, not wanting to consider how much his little sister knew about his sex life.

“He’d ask me how to know if a guy liked you, and he’d tell me all about how this guy couldn’t be out and he had a lot of issues with kissing and stuff but he was funny and smart and he thought about a lot of stuff and he always made sure Ian had a good time. Ian talked about you like…I don’t know. Like nothing was as important as you.”

Mickey’s heart was pounding now. “Yeah, well, that’s not true. Shouldn’t be. I’m not worth all that. Throwing away what he’s always wanted?”

“What he always wanted was _you_ ,” Mandy said. “Even before you were actually there. He wanted to be with someone. He wanted to be in love.”

“Don’t—” Mickey shook his head. He couldn’t handle that word. _Love_. Jesus.

“I’m just saying, Mickey. I don’t think he’s giving up everything he wanted, okay?”

“Christ,” Mickey muttered. He rubbed his hands down his face. “Well, none of them are going to see it that way.”

“Who gives a fuck how they see it?” Mandy asked. “The Gallaghers ain’t shit. They’re not better than us, Mickey.”

Mickey shrugged and blew out a breath. “Whatever. I’m going back in. You coming?”

Mandy looked at the door for a minute. She took a deep breath and raised her chin. “Let’s go.”

Everyone suddenly stopped talking when they came in, which made Mickey roll his eyes. Subtlety sure as fuck wasn’t a Gallagher trait. Ian’s jaw was all clenched and his face was pinched up, so Mickey could imagine what the topic of conversation had been. Mickey thought of what Mandy said, about the Gallaghers not being better than them. He thought about Ian standing here defending Mickey, or at least defending his choice to stay here with Mickey. He thought about Lip and Fiona thinking he was some stupid thug who’d dragged their brother away or something. And he thought about Mandy saying Ian had wanted him. Had wanted to _be_ with him.

Mickey went over and put his arm around Ian’s waist. He was all set to give Fiona and Lip a challenging look if they gave him a stink eye, but Ian sagged against him like he couldn’t handle holding himself up anymore. All Mickey’s defiance went out the window.

“Hey,” he said softly while everyone was distracted at the way Debbie was throwing her arms around Mandy. “You okay?”

“Tired,” Ian whispered.

Concern flared up in Mickey’s throat. But that was normal, too. The pills would make him tired. Mickey thought that was bullshit, because the whole depression thing had already made him stay in bed forever. Now the medicine to fix him wouldn’t even help with that? Everything about this goddamn medication seemed like they were guessing blindly here and it left a bad taste in Mickey’s mouth at the thought of Ian being their little lab rat.

“You want to go take a nap?” Mickey murmured.

“I don’t want to,” Ian said, frustrated. “But…”

“Hey, it’s okay,” Mickey said. “No one’s gonna be pissed if you’re gone for a little bit.”

“What, you’re gonna hang out with my siblings?” Ian asked, raising his eyebrows, amused through his exhaustion.

Mickey scoffed. “No. I was gonna lay down with you and leave them out here by themselves.”

Ian laughed a little. “What about Mandy?” She was talking to Debbie and kind of deliberately turned away from Lip.

“She has a room, too,” Mickey pointed out. She wouldn’t be worried about being rude. She’d fuck off to her room if she wanted to. It wasn’t like they needed to sit here and hold her hand.

Ian smiled at him. “If I asked you to stay out here with my siblings, would you do it?”

“No,” Mickey said. “Definitely not.”

Ian laughed a little, because he probably knew if he _really_ asked, really made a big deal out of it, Mickey would do it. He had to know how completely he had Mickey wrapped around his finger. But Ian wasn’t looking to make Mickey uncomfortable, generally speaking.

“’kay, come with me,” he said.

“Alright,” Mickey said, starting to leave. Ian stayed put and gave him a look.

“I’m gonna go lay down for a little bit,” Ian said. Mickey rolled his eyes. Like they had to make some big announcement.

“You feeling okay?” Fiona asked, all worried right away.

“I’m okay,” Ian said, though Mickey could tell he kind of wasn’t. “I just get tired. Um…because of the meds.”

“Yeah,” Lip said. “I read up about that.”

“Me too,” Debbie jumped in. “You should eat more omega-3s.”

“The fuck is that?” Mickey asked.

“It’s in fish!” She looked all chipper about it. Mickey made a face.

“Fish is fucking disgusting.”

“I like fish sticks,” Liam informed them all.

“I don’t really like fish,” Ian said.

“Well, it can help with depression,” Debbie said. “ _Including_ bipolar depressive phases.”

“Help how?” Mickey asked, curious despite himself.

“I’m not really sure how,” Debbie admitted. “But the thing I read said it’s good for your brain. Like salmon and tuna and stuff. It’s good for your heart, too, so even if it doesn’t help with the depression, at least it’s healthy.”

“Huh,” Mickey said. He shrugged. “We could try it.”

Ian made a little noise in the back of his throat. “You just said fish is gross.”

“I’ve eaten grosser,” Mickey pointed out. “Might as well try it, see if it helps, right?”

Debbie looked pleased with herself. Fiona had her head tipped to the side and her eyes narrowed as she looked at Mickey. Ian pursed his lips. “Maybe,” he said shortly. He was getting cranky. He needed his nap. Mickey nudged the back of his shoulder to get him moving.

“We’ll be back in a little,” Ian said.

“What do you want us to do out here?” Lip asked.

“Anything we can help out with?” Fiona corrected, giving Lip a look.

“Uh, I don’t think so,” Ian said, voice petering out a bit. He was fading fast. “We just cleaned yesterday.”

“There’s old Chinese in there,” Mickey said, jutting his chin at the fridge. “Might be gross.”

“You want us to throw it away?” Debbie asked.

“He means you can eat it,” Mandy translated. “He doesn’t know how to say it nicely.”

Mickey rolled his eyes and flipped her off. Carl perked up a little. “You guys got any weed?”

“Carl,” Fiona said sternly.

“We got some,” Mickey confirmed. “But we’re not sharing.” He pulled Ian down the hall to the sounds of Fiona scolding Carl. Ian collapsed back on their bed with a sigh. He threw an arm over his face.

“Can’t even sit on my ass doing nothing without getting tired.”

“You were standing,” Mickey tried to joke. Ian moved his arm so he could give Mickey an unimpressed look. “Look, remember what the pharmacist said? Give it some time. And you can go talk to Musse and he can change the doses or whatever. Maybe that’ll help.”

“Maybe,” Ian said dubiously.

He was out in about three seconds, curled up in a little ball in the middle of the bed. Mickey kicked off his shoes and lay down beside him, unsure if he should touch him or not. Navigating touching Ian these days was harder than it had ever been. Mickey used to refuse to touch Ian besides just fucking because he was trying to keep them in a neat little box. They were fucking, and that was it.

That was never it, not really, but he’d tried so hard to tell himself it was.

He’d started stealing little touches, here and there. Letting himself have a sip when he wanted to gulp. But he’d still been careful. He’d measured them out and kept the touches in check. They’d run off almost eight months ago, though. And for eight months, he’d touched Ian freely. Any time he wanted to. When they went to sleep, he kept a hand on Ian. When they ate dinner, they’d tangle their legs under the table. He’d lean over and kiss Ian any time he felt like it. And he’d take any kisses Ian gave him. Mickey had gotten too used to it. He got greedy.

Since Ian was all comatose, touching had become a minefield. Mickey didn’t know what Ian wanted. Mickey knew what _he_ wanted, but he’d stopped worrying about only what he wanted months ago. He cared what Ian wanted more than he cared what he wanted.

While Mickey tried to puzzle all this out, Ian snuffled in his sleep and moved closer. His hand moved around a little, searching. He caught onto the hem of Mickey’s shirt and he settled down, wrist knocking against Mickey’s hip. He pressed his face into Mickey’s shoulder.

It was probably just his subconscious. Familiarity because they’d been sharing a bed all these months. It didn’t really mean Ian was fine with going back to all the regular touching. But it made Mickey feel better. He took a big breath, and he felt calm for the first time all day.

 

When Mickey woke up, Ian was gone. His spot on the bed was still pretty warm, so Mickey didn’t think it’d been long. He was surprised Ian had been able to get up without waking him up. Mickey wasn’t usually a very deep sleeper, and Ian had hardly been light on his feet the past few weeks,

Mickey stretched and stood up. He heard Carl in the hallway by the bathroom, obviously talking to Ian. “You and Mickey share a room?”

Ian huffed. “Yeah.”

“Is Mickey gay?”

“You’d have to ask him that,” Ian said. Mickey rolled his eyes a little. Ian sure didn’t have any problems speaking for him about that at the building before Mickey’s wedding.

“That doesn’t seem like a very good idea,” Carl said. Ian laughed.

“Maybe not.”

“Do you love him?” Carl asked. Ian was quiet for a while. Mickey suddenly found himself holding his breath. He didn’t actually know _how_ he wanted Ian to answer.

“I like how he smells,” Ian finally concluded.

Mickey was relieved. He wasn’t sure he was ready for anything else. Certainly not overhearing Ian talking to his brother. That didn’t seem like the best way to find that out. Mickey came out of the bedroom and barked at Carl,

“What you asking stupid fucking questions for?”

Carl didn’t even look scared. “Just asking,” he said.

“Well, quit,” Mickey said. He let his arm trail across Ian’s back as he brushed past him to get to the toilet to take a piss.

“I had a girlfriend,” Carl reported. “But she left.”

“Where’d she go?” Ian asked.

“I don’t know,” Carl said. He looked pretty sad about it. Mickey thought he seemed pretty young for a girlfriend, but he didn’t really know about shit like that. He also had no real idea how old Carl was. “Her family lived in a van. She said sometimes they just have to move on. I guess they did.”

“Her family lived in a van?” Ian echoed.

“I’ve done that,” Mickey said. “Fucking sucks.”

“We did, too, but I was too little to really remember,” Ian said.

“That van in your yard?”

“Yeah,” Ian said. “Fiona said when we first moved into the house, I’d sneak out and go sleep in the van sometimes. Said I was homesick.”

Mickey watched Ian from the corner of his eye while he zipped up, trying not to look like he was watching him. “Homesick, huh.”

Ian looked at Mickey blatantly, because Ian didn’t know how to be subtle. Maybe he didn’t know why he should be. After a second, he said, “I haven’t been homesick in a long time.”

Mickey didn’t ask him why. He knew what Ian was saying. He’d said it plenty of times over the past eight months. He was telling Mickey this was home now. Mickey took a deep breath. He nodded. Ian nodded back.

“What the hell are you talking about?” Carl butted in.

Ian rolled his eyes at Mickey a little. He laughed. “Nothing.”

“You guys are just staring at each other and Mickey has his hands on his dick. Is that gay sex?”

“Jesus Christ,” Mickey muttered. He stepped around Ian and shoved past Carl to get out of the bathroom.

“It can be, sort of,” Ian said. “Sometimes.”

“Wasn’t in any of the gay porn I saw,” Carl said, almost accusing.

Mickey got to the kitchen to the sound of Ian’s startled laugh. He didn’t strain to hear any more of that particular conversation.

“What’s that smell?” He asked.

“Debs’s fish,” Lip said, cigarette hanging out of his mouth while he answered a text. “She thinks she’s gonna cure bipolar with a tuna sandwich, I guess.”

Mickey shrugged. “Yeah, well, turns out meds are a fucking crapshoot, so she might as well try.”

Lip put his phone down and stared at Mickey like he was sizing him up, trying to figure something out. Mickey hated when people pulled that shit. He’d rather people just came out and said whatever they wanted to say.

Well, really, he’d rather people just shut the fuck up in general, but he’d learned that, unfortunately, most of the world didn’t work that way.

“What?” He barked at Lip.

“Why are you doing all this?”

“Doing all what?” Mickey asked.

“You got a doctor to see Ian, and you’re getting his meds, and you’re talking about trying whatever works…” Lip shrugged. “Why?”

“What do you mean, why?” Mickey asked. “That’s what Ian needs.”

“Why do you _care_ what Ian needs?” Lip asked.

Mickey just stared at him for a second. “Does everyone think I’m some kind of fucking idiot?”

“Yeah,” Lip said honestly.

“Fuck off,” Mickey said. “I wouldn’t just run out on a wedding my dad was making me do if I didn’t have a fucking good reason. Okay? It wasn’t like I didn’t know running off was an option _._ Jesus. I wouldn’t have gone with anyone but him. I wouldn’t have gone _without_ him. Of course I care what he needs. I care—I care what happens to him. He’s fucking _family_.”

“He’s not, though,” Lip pointed out.

“He is,” Mickey reiterated. “He’s my family.” Lip didn’t look convinced, but Mickey really didn’t give a fuck. Ian got it. That was what mattered. Mickey rubbed a hand down his face. “Where is everyone?”

“Fiona and Debbie took Liam to the playground out there. Mandy went with them.”

“Hey,” Ian said, coming into the kitchen. He put his hand on Mickey’s back. “You want to eat something?”

“Sure,” Mickey said. “Sit down, I’ll make you a sandwich.”

“I can do it,” Ian protested.

“What kind of dumb fuck says no when someone tries to make them food?” Mickey asked.

Ian snorted. “Fine.”

“You take your evening meds yet?” Mickey asked.

Ian pursed his lips. “No.”

“Go get ‘em then,” Mickey said. “Debbie wants you to eat this fucking tuna.”

Ian made a face. “I don’t like tuna.”

“I’ll put pickles and mustard in yours like you like. Won’t even be able to taste it.”

“Fine,” Ian said, long-suffering. “You have to eat it, too. If I have to suffer, so do you.”

Mickey huffed. “Great, thanks.”

Ian flipped him off and went back to their room to grab his pills. Lip and Carl were staring at Mickey. “You know what Ian likes in his sandwich?” Carl asked.

“I’ve lived with the dude for eight months,” Mickey pointed out. That wasn’t why he knew what Ian liked. Mickey had lived with his brothers for like seventeen years and couldn’t have told anyone what any of them liked in a sandwich. But yeah, he paid attention to Ian. He thought that much was pretty obvious.

Ian came back with his fistful of pills and grabbed Mickey’s glass of water to swallow them. “You want to check under my tongue to make sure I really took them?”

“Sure, if I can check with mine,” Mickey said reflexively. Then he froze, realizing what he’d said with Ian’s brothers in the room. That was the kind of thing he said to Ian all the time, here in their bubble. He didn’t say shit like that with anyone else around. He was barely starting to be able to say that kind of stuff with Mandy around, and Mandy was a whole different ball game than Lip and Carl.

“I knew it!” Carl crowed. “So gay.”

“Shut up, Carl,” Ian said, looking at Mickey kind of concernedly. He was waiting for Mickey to lash out, probably punch Carl in the face. He was waiting for Mickey to run. This was the sort of thing that would’ve had Mickey hiding out for days, back before. Hell, he probably would’ve threatened to kill Carl like a year ago for saying that.

Mickey took a deep breath and let it out slowly. There wasn’t really anywhere for him to run. And he didn’t _want_ to. Sure, he wouldn’t mind getting away from Lip’s suspicious stares or Carl’s stupid questions, but he didn’t want to run from Ian. Besides, it wasn’t like Lip and Carl had no idea what Ian and Mickey were doing here. And they weren’t going to do anything that could get Ian in hot water, including spreading shit about Mickey. They’d keep their mouths shut. Lip had apparently known for a while, almost the whole time Ian and Mickey had been fucking, and he’d never said anything.

And maybe…well, maybe that part wasn’t something that needed to be such a secret anymore. Not from people who would have their backs, anyway. Maybe they could have some of their bubble back, even with a few more people in it.

Mickey took another deep breath.

“Whatever,” he said. He shrugged, trying to make his heart stop pounding so hard. He couldn’t meet anyone’s eyes, but he wasn’t running. Ian was beaming, so that made it almost seem worth it.

 

“I’m going to see the psychiatrist this afternoon,” Ian told his siblings. “The one who came here and gave me the meds.” Mickey was in the bathroom, shaving, and he could hear them all talking in the kitchen. Mickey already had time off work to go with him.

“You want me to come with you?” Fiona asked. “We can go back a little later.”

“No, Fi, it’s okay,” Ian said. “You’ll get in trouble with your PO.”

“I don’t want you to have to go alone,” Fiona said.

“I’m not going alone,” Ian said. “Mickey’s coming with me.”

It was quiet for a second and Mickey found himself tensing. He could practically hear what they were all thinking. It was Lip who spoke next. “You really think it’s a good idea to put all this on Mickey?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Ian asked, voice carefully controlled.

“I’m just saying, Ian, when push comes to shove, you gotta rely on family. And—”

“Mickey is family,” Ian said. It steadied Mickey’s hands again. “Mickey’s the one who’s been here. He made me eat while I was too depressed to lift my fucking head. He spoon-fed me. He carried me to the fucking toilet. You don’t know him.”

“I would’ve been there for you,” Fiona said, all choked up now. “You didn’t let me. You didn’t let any of us. You just took off, Ian.”

“Yeah, well, I didn’t have much choice,” Ian said. “I couldn’t let that happen to Mickey.”

“Did you have to go six months without talking to us?”

Ian blew out a breath. “It was hard, okay? And I was—I wasn’t really me. I was manic or whatever.”

“Yeah. You were a manic teenager and you ran away from home. Don’t you think it’s time to come home and get better?” Lip asked.

There was a thud. Mickey could picture Ian slamming his hand down on the table. “You guys don’t fucking get it. This is my home now. With Mickey. And I _am_ getting better. Because _Mickey_ got a doctor here. I can rely on Mickey.”

“For how long?” Fiona asked.

A noise in the doorway made Mickey look up. Debbie was looking at him with big, sad eyes. “What?” Mickey grunted at her.

“Sorry they’re being so mean,” she said. “It’s just…we’re not used to anyone else helping. Except Kev and V. And I mean—well, it’s not like any of us thought _you_ of all people would be helpful, based on…” She shrugged. “Your general personality as long as I’ve known who you were.”

“Whatever,” Mickey said, like there wasn’t a pit in his stomach. Hearing someone question his loyalty—one quality he knew he had and he’d actually been proud of for most of his life—fucking sucked. But it wasn’t like he was going to talk to a five-year-old about it. Or however old she was.

“I don’t think you’re gonna ditch Ian,” she said firmly. “I trust you.”

“Wow, thanks, Little Orphan Annie,” Mickey said sarcastically.

Debbie rolled her eyes. “That’s original,” she fired right back. It made him laugh a little, mostly against his will. “I’m just saying, I can tell you love him.”

“Jesus,” Mickey hissed. He’d jumped and cut himself. Fucking Gallaghers and their _love_ this and _love_ that. “Don’t you have some Barbies or something to play with?”

“I’m glad he has you,” Debbie said brazenly. “I’m not as worried about him now. I know you’ll take care of him.”

Mickey swallowed hard. That’s really all he wanted them to understand. He glanced at her in the mirror and then away. He nodded a few times. “Okay,” he said. He wasn’t really sure what response she expected. She nodded back at him.

“Bye, Mickey,” she said. “See you next time I come visit.”

Mickey raised his eyebrows. “You think you’re invited for a next time?”

“Yeah,” she said simply. Then she tossed her hair and left. He huffed. It wasn’t like he was going to have a sleepover with her or anything, but he didn’t mind that one so much.

There was a palpable tension in the room when Mickey came out. He had to go to work, but he was a little worried Lip and Fiona were going to try to hog-tie Ian and strap him to the car or something. Ian could probably handle himself, though. He’d always held his own just fine when he fought back against Mickey. And Mandy was still here for another hour. She could and absolutely _would_ do some damage if necessary.

“I’ll see you at the place,” Mickey said. “You got the address?”

“Yeah, Abdi texted it to me,” Ian said. “Two o’clock?”

“I’ll be there,” Mickey promised, looking pointedly at Lip.

“I know you will,” Ian said, just as pointed. He gave Mickey’s elbow a squeeze and Mickey patted his back. He couldn’t quite work up to kissing Ian with a roomful of eyeballs on him, especially hostile eyeballs. It had taken him nearly two years to work up to kissing Ian when they were _alone_ ; it was going to take a lot longer than twelve hours to start doing it in front of Ian’s siblings who hated Mickey.

“Hey, Mickey,” Carl said. “If I come visit you guys again without the party pooper around, will you let me shoot your gun?”

Mickey huffed. “Kid, I’m pretty sure Ian’s the biggest party pooper around when it comes to you and guns.”

“I am,” Ian confirmed.

Carl rolled his eyes. “If you let me do it anyway, I’ll vote you into the family.”

Mickey raised his eyebrows, unimpressed. “I don’t need a fucking vote for that. And even if I did, I know I got your vote anyway. You’re fucking easy to read. I got your vote when I gave you those brass knuckles yesterday.”

Carl looked a little embarrassed. “Well, it’ll be cooler if you let me shoot.”

Mickey shrugged. “When you’re a little older and not such a psycho, okay? I don’t feel like finishing off a bunch of birds you mutilate.”

Carl nodded. “Cool.”

“Brass knuckles?” Fiona asked.

“Whatever, he was gonna get ‘em one way or another,” Mickey pointed out. “I just taught him how to use them without breaking any fingers.”

“Thanks,” Fiona said. “I guess.”

“Bye,” Mickey said, mostly just to Ian. He didn’t know if he was expected to say goodbye to Ian’s siblings, and he didn’t really care. He was glad they were leaving.

“Bye, Mickey!” Liam said. He ran over and latched onto Mickey’s leg. Mickey looked at Ian for help. Ian laughed at him.

“Yeah, sure, bye, uh, big guy,” Mickey said. He didn’t know what the hell you were supposed to say to a baby. He’d heard Ian call him big guy before. Whatever. He patted awkwardly at Liam’s head until Ian took pity on him and picked the kid up.

“See you later,” Ian said. Mickey left without any more fanfare.

Mickey could do most of his work on auto-pilot. It wasn’t like it took a lot of brain power to pick up luggage off the belt and put it in the cart. That was a good thing, because he definitely couldn’t focus on anything. Abdi didn’t even try engaging him in much conversation; he knew Mickey and Ian were going to see Musse that afternoon. He waved Mickey off at 1:30 with a pat on the shoulder and a sympathetic smile. It made Mickey kind of jumpy. He looked like he knew something Mickey didn’t.

Ian was already there when Mickey came in. He was sitting completely still, but Mickey could see his hands shaking. “Hey,” Mickey said softly, sitting in the chair next to his. “Your family go?”

“Yeah,” Ian said, lips twisting.

“You good?” Mickey asked, watching his face carefully.

Ian sighed. He tipped his head up at the ceiling. Then he looked at Mickey and smiled. He looked tired. “I’m fine.”

Mickey rolled his eyes. He was getting tired of hearing _I’m fine_. It didn’t actually tell him anything. Mickey bounced his leg. “You nervous?” He asked Ian.

“Yeah,” Ian admitted. He eyed Mickey’s leg. “You?”

Mickey snorted. “Yeah, duh.” Ian breathed out a little laugh. Mickey bit at his thumbnail and tried to sound casual as he asked, “Fiona and Lip try to get you to leave again?”

Ian pursed his lips and shook his head a little. “Yeah,” he said. “They act like I’m a fucking kid who doesn’t know what I’m doing.”

Mickey shrugged. “Can’t blame ‘em too much, I guess.”

Ian looked at him with narrowed eyes. “What?”

Mickey shrugged again. “No, I mean, fuck them for saying it, sure, and I know it’s ‘cause they think I’m trash. But they’re worried about you. And who the fuck thinks I’m good in a delicate situation?”

“I do,” Ian said stubbornly, even though Mickey was pretty sure he’d proven plenty of times to Ian that he was terrible under pressure.

“I’m just saying,” Mickey said. “I wouldn’t trust some clown with you, either.”

“You’re not some clown,” Ian told him, kind of annoyed.

“I am to them,” Mickey pointed out.

Ian kind of harrumphed. “Maybe.”

Mickey laughed a little. That was as much as he’d get out of Ian’s stubborn ass. He bumped his knee against Ian’s and let it linger there for a second. Now that he’d decided he could be a little more open with Ian, it was hard to keep himself from touching Ian.

And it was hard to remember why he’d ever _wanted_ to. Even with all his bad memories of Terry, being away from him made Terry seem like some kind of cartoon character; no one could _really_ be that bad. Maybe Mickey had made it all up or built it up more in his head than what really happened. No one else in the family seemed as scared of Terry as Mickey always had been.

Though none of his siblings were secretly gay and hiding it from Terry, so that could’ve had something to do with it.

Musse opened his office door and waved at them. “Come on in,” he said. He didn’t seem to have a secretary. But then he said, “My secretary’s at lunch.” Mickey knew it was stupid, but part of him got a little freaked out, like maybe Musse could hear his thoughts. He rolled his eyes at himself. Musse was a shrink, not a fucking mutant.

“So, Ian, you’re looking much better than the last time I saw you,” Musse said, smiling.

“Uh, yeah,” Ian said, almost sheepish.

“But are you feeling better?” Musse asked.

Ian licked his lips and glanced over at Mickey. “I don’t know. It’s different.”

Musse nodded. “I’ve had patients describe it as feeling blank.”

Ian relaxed visibly. “ _Yes_ ,” he said. “I can’t—I know it’s good I don’t feel all that bad shit anymore. But now I don’t feel _anything_. When am I going to get back to normal?”

“Well, it does take some time for the meds to even out a bit. It hasn’t even been two weeks, so I’d say let’s give it a week or two more before we start adjusting your dosage. You don’t have to feel completely empty, Ian. We just want to make sure you’re feeling much more even. No more peaks and valleys.”

“How long do I have to take the medicine?” Ian asked. “I mean, when you find the right dosage. How long does it take to fix me?”

Musse sighed. He looked right at Ian. “Ian, this isn’t a magic cure,” he said delicately. “I’m not going to find some perfect combination that corrects your brain chemistry and then you don’t have any more problems.” He made a face that looked just like the one Abdi had given Mickey as he left work. “You’re going to need to take medication for the rest of your life, Ian.”

It felt like all the air got sucked out of the room. “The rest of my life?” Ian asked faintly.

“I’m sorry,” Musse said. “There are other things we can do, in combination with medication, that can help. A stable routine does a lot of good.”

“So I’m…I’m always going to be like this?” Ian asked. His voice was so, so small. It hurt Mickey’s stomach to hear it. “I’m always going to go from feeling like I’ve got the sun in my chest and if I don’t keep moving I’ll burn out to going to…to falling in a hole and wanting to sleep until I die?”

Mickey swallowed hard at that description. He couldn’t think about Ian dying. He _couldn’t_. Musse, at least, wasn’t trying to beat around the bush about it. He said, “Yes, Ian. But hopefully with the medication, you won’t have such drastic swings. You’ll still experience some highs and some lows. But they should be shorter and more manageable.”

“Hang on,” Mickey said. “Wait. He takes the fucking meds, and he’s still all messed up? You can’t fix him _at all_?”

“We can only mitigate the issue.” Musse had used that word before. _Mitigate_. Like he didn’t realize he was talking to two dumb kids who didn’t know what the hell he was saying. “One thing that’s important right now—I’d like you to come up with a list of people you can turn to when you’re worried about hurting yourself, Ian. A support network.”

“I have to take the drugs forever and I still need a fucking suicide list?” Ian asked incredulously.

“You don’t need a list,” Mickey snapped. “He’s got me.”

“Mickey, you can’t be available every hour of every day,” Musse tried.

“I sure the fuck can,” Mickey protested. “What, you think you tell us this shit and then I go to work and just—what, I ignore him if he calls me? He says he needs me and I say sorry, call someone else, I’m fucking busy?” Mickey knew he was getting too loud, too angry, but he couldn’t stop. “You think I’m not gonna be there for him?”

“Hey,” Ian said quietly. He tapped at Mickey’s leg. “Mick. Stop.”

Mickey’s chest was heaving. This was twice now in the same day that people were doubting his loyalty. In what fucking universe would he leave Ian hanging like that? He wouldn’t have even done that all the way back at the start of this when he was pretending he didn’t have feelings. Shit, Ian showed up crying about Monica and Mickey had run out the door to go to him. And now, after all this, after running away together and living together just the two of them for more than half a year, everyone thought he was going to just get tired of all this and leave? He wouldn’t. He _couldn’t_. Leaving Ian at this point wasn’t even possible. He couldn’t even imagine it.

“You got me,” Mickey said again, quieter this time.

“I know,” Ian told him. “ _Mickey._ I know I do.”

There wasn’t much else to talk about with Musse. He wanted to give the meds more time before they messed with anything. He wanted Ian to start writing in a journal—“take stock of your emotions every day”, whatever the fuck that meant—and they’d talk again in a few weeks about how Ian was feeling.

Ian and Mickey were quiet on the way home. Mickey didn’t know what he was supposed to do to make Ian feel better. There wasn’t anything he could do. This was Ian’s whole life now. Ian went to find out how long it would be until he wasn’t sick anymore, and he found out the answer was never. Mickey had no idea how he could possibly say anything that would help. Mickey texted Abdi and told him he wasn’t coming back to work. _Kinda figured you wouldn’t_ , Abdi said. _No worries, man_.

Someone was at their door when they got up the stairs. Mickey tensed up and pushed past Ian to be first. It was a woman, so probably not a huge threat, but still. She could have a gun or something. “Hey,” he said. “What do you want?”

She turned around. She didn’t have a gun; she had a baby. It was the Russian whore. Mickey sucked in a shuddering breath.

“Holy shit,” Ian muttered.

“The fuck are you doing here?” Mickey demanded.

She just stared at them both for a minute. “Your father said I cannot stay in his house anymore. Take baby and go.”

“Thought he was locked up again,” Mickey said. When did she _start_ staying in that house?

“Not anymore,” she said. “Said I did not do job he paid for.” If Mickey wasn’t mistaken, there was the shadow of a bruise on her jaw. He looked down at the kid, just a quick glance, and had to look away fast. “His name is Yevgeny,” she told him. “Your son.”

“I didn’t fucking ask for this,” Mickey said tightly. “Jesus Christ.”

“I did not either,” she shot back. “But now we have baby. I work until baby came. Sasha say get rid of baby at work. But I have no one to stay with baby so I cannot leave him. I cannot work. And now we have no home.”

“How’d you know where we were?” Ian asked.

“I talk to your sister,” she said. “She gave me address.”

“What the fuck,” Mickey said. His chest was all tight. This was too much to deal with today. First Ian’s family shitting on Mickey, then all the shit with Musse and Ian’s life sentence, and now this. What was next, Terry showing up? Mickey shuddered at the thought, panic clawing at his throat.

“Terry follow you?” He demanded.

“No,” she said. “He does not know I left.”

“Thought you said he kicked you out,” Ian said, kind of suspicious about it.

“He said I get out tomorrow. But I get out today.” Her eyes went dark. “Bad place for baby.”

Mickey ran his hands through his hair, trying to stay calm. That had never worked in his life, so he wasn’t sure why he thought he had a chance now.

“Let’s go inside,” Ian suggested.

“I can’t deal with this shit,” Mickey muttered desperately.

“I know,” Ian said. He shrugged. “Don’t know what choice we have, though.”

“Fucking hell,” Mickey breathed raggedly. He couldn’t see any way to prove Ian wrong.

Ian opened the door and they all went inside. The kid wasn’t making a peep, just staring around at everything with big eyes. Big _blue_ eyes. Mickey shuddered again.

“I need money for baby,” she said.

“I don’t have any fucking money,” Mickey said.

Ian rubbed his eyes. “Okay, uh, how about—let’s all calm down, okay? Are you hungry or anything? What about the baby? Does he need a bottle?”

She pursed her lips, glaring at them both, but then she relented. “Zhenya needs nap now.”

“Thought you said his name was—whatever,” Mickey said. He already forgot what she’d called it.

“Zhenya is other name for Yevgeny,” she explained.

“Nickname,” Ian offered.

“Yes,” she said. She looked at Mickey. “You do not use real name.”

“Yeah, because going around Chicago as _Mikhailo_ would’ve gone great,” Mickey muttered. He blew out a breath. “What are you doing with the kid?”

“I need place to put down,” she said.

“You can put him in our room,” Ian said.

“No,” Mickey snapped. Ian raised his eyebrows at him. “Not—no.”

“Mick, he can’t be on the couch. What if he falls off?”

“He does not move,” she told them both. “Kicks legs, but not rolling yet.”

“Oh,” Ian said. “Well, if he sleeps on the couch, we can’t argue in the kitchen. You’re not gonna handle a crying baby very well,” he pointed out to Mickey under his breath.

“Jesus Christ,” Mickey seethed. “Put him in Mandy’s room then. That’s what she gets for fucking blabbing about where we live.” He couldn’t put it into words, but he could not handle the thought of that kid in his bed. He was barely holding back puke seeing him, seeing _her_. Fuck.

“Okay,” Ian said quietly. “It’s okay, Mick. We’ll put him in Mandy’s room.” He led the whore down the hall and Mickey sat down on the couch to drop his head in his hands. He was shaking. The couch dipped after a second and he jumped, but it was Ian.

“I can’t—” Mickey stopped when his voice broke. Ian put his arm around Mickey’s shoulders.

“I know,” he said. “Sorry, Mick.” He sighed. “I didn’t think about…” He trailed off, Adam’s apple bobbing.

“She gonna fucking move in?” Mickey asked desperately. “Ian…”

Ian sighed again. “I don’t know. But I don’t know what else we can do. I mean, we’re not gonna send her and a little baby back to your dad, are we? We can’t do that. You saw her face.”

“We got too much to worry about already,” Mickey said. “You don’t need this.”

Ian shrugged. “You don’t need this,” he countered. Mickey didn’t know what to say to that. They just sat there for a few minutes, not talking, leaning against each other. Eventually the whore—what was her name? something Russian—came back without the baby.

“You leave me to deal with your father so you can come rub dicks?” She accused.

“Shut the fuck up,” Mickey snapped. “Jesus. You show up on our doorstep and say shit like that? I didn’t leave you anywhere. I never asked for you in the first place.”

“I do not care if you like me,” she said. “But you will pay for baby.”

“No,” Mickey said. “I won’t.”

The door opened just then and Mandy walked in. She saw the whore standing there and said, “Oh, shit. Svetlana, I thought you weren’t coming until tomorrow. I was gonna—”

“You fucking _knew_ she was coming?” Mickey asked. He didn’t know if it was dumb or not, but he felt betrayed. He thought Mandy would’ve been on his side.

“She couldn’t stay there with Terry,” Mandy said. “Look at her face. He was beating the shit out of her.”

“What, you guys best friends?” Mickey asked sarcastically.

“She had to stay somewhere after you left,” Mandy pointed out. “Terry got picked up for his parole violation like a week after you took off and then she showed up. She was _pregnant_. Not like I was gonna just kick her out.”

“So now I gotta deal with her?” Mickey’s whole body felt shaky and panicky.

“You want your kid growing up there? With him?” Mandy shot back.

“I don’t give a fuck,” Mickey said, even as a shiver went down his spine. Mandy just gave him a look, because she knew him better than that.

“It’s not the baby’s fault it’s all a shitshow,” Mandy said.

Mickey shook his head. “She ain’t staying here.”

“Where’s she going then?” Mandy challenged.

“I do not care about staying,” Svetlana said. “But you will give money for baby. You are father.”

“You don’t even fucking know that for sure,” Mickey hissed.

“I know,” she spat back. “No one else stupid enough to not use condom.”

“Stupid?” Ian cut in hotly. “Not like Terry gave him a fucking choice.”

“Wait, what?” Mandy asked. Silence fell in the room. Mickey was biting his lip so hard he tasted blood.

“Whatever,” he said. “I don’t have any fucking money for you. Get a job.”

“And do what with baby?” Svetlana demanded.

“Not my problem,” Mickey said.

“Mickey,” Ian said quietly, putting a hand on Mickey’s back. “We can’t just throw her out. She has a baby.” Ian met his eyes. “ _Your_ baby.”

Mickey shook his head. He could tell he’d lost. Mandy and Ian were going to team up against him. Fuck him and what he wanted, he guessed. He shouldn’t have been so surprised. It was always fuck what he wanted.

“What the fuck ever,” he muttered, pushing off the couch and going to his room. He slammed the door so Ian wouldn’t come following him, at least not right away. He put his hands over his face and just tried to breathe for a second.

He didn’t get very long before Ian came in. The slamming door didn’t do its job, apparently. Mickey spun around and said, “I don’t want—”

“Shut up,” Ian said. “I know this fucking sucks, okay? And especially today. But I don’t know what else we can do, Mick. Did you think about the fact that if we kick her out, she’ll go tell your dad where we are?”

Mickey’s heart stopped. “She say she’d do that?”

“Yeah,” Ian said. “Not like she has any loyalty to you.”

“You blaming me?” Mickey demanded, a lump rising in his throat. Ian was supposed to be on his side, especially about everything that happened that day.

“ _No_ ,” Ian said. “Jesus, Mickey, of course not. I’m just saying, she doesn’t care about us. So we have to do what she wants.”

“I can’t give her any fucking money,” Mickey said. “We gotta pay for your meds.”

Ian ran his hands down his face. “Well, I could stop taking them.”

They just stared at each other for a minute. There was a rushing in Mickey’s ears. “Stop taking them,” he echoed. “Why the fuck would you do that?”

“They’re too expensive,” Ian said. “And they make me feel like shit. They make me feel like I’m not _me_.”

“Okay,” Mickey said. “You feel like you when you’re bouncing off the fucking walls? Or how ‘bout when you’re laying there like a corpse for two weeks, won’t get up to even piss by yourself? That’s better?”

“I don’t know,” Ian said, voice breaking. “I don’t know what’s better.”

“Well, do I get to give any fucking _input_ here?” Mickey asked, whole body screaming with terror. He was getting too loud, sweating, blind with fear. Everything was happening all at once and he couldn’t fix any of it. “’Cause I gotta say, the one where you’re not starving to death gets my vote.”

“Even if I hate it?” Ian asked flatly.

“Least you’re alive to hate it.”

Ian shook his head, jaw clenched. “You have no idea what it feels like.”

“Oh, you think it’s a picnic seeing you like that?” Mickey asked. “You think I was having a lot of fun wondering if you were ever coming home after you’d stay out all night, or thinking you were gonna die right there in our goddamn bed? You think it’s real great for Mandy to have to clean up your fucking piss? You know how many days I sat there worrying you were gonna get pissed at the wrong person and end up dead? Jesus Christ, Ian, I know you got it worse, but you don’t gotta pretend you’re the only one going through this shit.”

Ian was crying now, and Mickey felt bad about it, but it was buried deep. Too much had happened today. He couldn’t breathe and he couldn’t think and he couldn’t stop to consider that he was saying the wrong shit. He couldn’t take all this.

“I gotta—” Mickey left. He shouldn’t have, probably, but he couldn’t be there. He couldn’t watch Ian cry and he couldn’t take Mandy judging him and he sure as fuck couldn’t look at Svetlana and the fucking baby. He ignored their questions and walked out the front door.

 

He wandered aimlessly for a while. He pretty much only ever went to work and then home, so he had no idea what was around where they lived. It was hot and humid, but he couldn’t tell if he was sweating from the heat or because he was having some kind of fucking break down.

He shouldn’t have blown up at Ian like that. Ian didn’t even have time to think over what Musse had said about being on pills for the rest of his life before Svetlana showed up, and then Mickey freaked out and yelled at him, too. Guilt was warring with all the other bad feelings swirling around Mickey’s chest until he felt like he was going to puke.

He ended up sitting on a bench somewhere with his head in his hands. He didn’t stay long. He knew he wouldn’t. He trudged back home. Home that wasn’t their little bubble anymore. Mickey had thought they could be okay with letting some other people in, but he was wrong. They’d let too many people invade it. Mandy was fine, but then one after another everyone who’d come in had made things worse. Mickey felt like they’d ruined the little life they’d built up for themselves by letting all those other people in.

He came inside quietly. He could hear the baby making noise in the kitchen. He didn’t stop to look. He went into his room and kicked off his shoes. Ian was asleep on the bed. Mickey crawled in beside him and just looked at him. All he’d wanted was to be with Ian. That was how they’d gotten here. He’d wanted Ian all to himself for a whole night and his dad caught them. Everything had spun out of control from there. He’d finally thought it had stopped spinning, but everyone else had caught up to them. They should’ve kept running. They should’ve gone on the road, never staying in one place too long. They could’ve been okay.

He remembered Musse talking about routine and stability. He remembered Ian acting weird already when they got to Minnesota. He knew running wouldn’t have made a difference. He sighed and leaned his head against Ian’s. They’d have to deal with this eventually. Talk about what Musse told them. Talk about what to do with Ian’s pills. Talk about how to handle Svetlana showing up.

But Ian was asleep. He’d be asleep until morning, most likely. Mickey was kind of hungry, but it was easy enough to ignore that. He had plenty of practice going to bed hungry. He couldn’t go out there, not if the baby was out there. Not if Ian was in here. Mickey pressed his face into Ian’s shoulder and closed his eyes.

 

Mickey couldn’t avoid the kitchen forever. He had to go to work, and if Svetlana was going to insist he had to give her money—and if they couldn’t think of a way to get rid of her without her running to Terry—he definitely couldn’t be late.

She was in there when he went out. He had no idea where she’d slept. Mandy’s room, maybe. It didn’t explain where Mandy had slept, unless they really were BFFs now and shared. Mandy was gone already; she’d had the opening shift. Ian was probably going to be stuck opening and closing for a while when he went back until he got back in the manager’s good graces.

Svetlana watched Mickey pour himself a cup of coffee. Her eyes on him made him twitchy. He ate a bowl of cereal at the counter, not looking at her.

“Baby did not choose this either,” she said softly, just as Mickey was leaving the room. It made his stomach twist and he almost lost his Lucky Charms. He didn’t answer her. He went back into his room to see if Ian was up on his own or if he needed to get him up for his meds.

Ian was awake, sitting up in bed with his hair all wild. He rubbed his eyes and looked at Mickey. Mickey kept eye contact while he shook out each of Ian’s pills. He held out his hand and the Gatorade and just looked at Ian.

Ian stared at the pills for a while. Mickey was practically holding his breath. Then Ian reached out and took the pills. He swallowed them down.

“I’m going to work,” Mickey said, practically a whisper. It was the first thing he’d said to Ian in nearly 15 hours.

“Okay,” Ian said.

Mickey swallowed hard. He didn’t like this. He didn’t like the heaviness between them. He licked his lips, knowing he should say something. He didn’t know what to say, though. He didn’t know what to do. How was he supposed to fix this? He didn’t know if he could.

“Bye,” he tried.

Ian’s face was unreadable. “Bye.”

Mickey waited another beat. Ian didn’t say anything. Mickey blew out a breath and left for work.

 

They didn’t talk about it. They didn’t talk about it when Mickey got home from work. They didn’t talk about it after dinner, when Svetlana whipped out a tit and the baby finally shut up for two seconds. They didn’t talk about it when they went to bed, not touching, without kissing goodnight.

Mickey couldn’t breathe. He knew he was fucking this up. He just didn’t know how to _not_ fuck it up. He didn’t know what he was supposed to do. Usually Ian took pity on him and listened to the shit Mickey couldn’t say, but Ian either couldn’t or wouldn’t do that this time.

He had the day off, but Ian was finally back to work. Mickey watched him get dressed with his heart in his throat.

“How long you working?” He asked.

“Just one shift,” Ian said. “Didn’t want to overdo it my first day back. I’ll be home by four.”

Mickey nodded. He opened his mouth, but he didn’t know what to say. “Ian,” was all that came out. Ian looked at him, but Mickey didn’t have anything else.

“I have to go,” Ian said quietly.

“Ian,” Mickey repeated desperately. But again, nothing else came out. His brain was stuck and the only thought he could get out was Ian’s name.

“We’ll talk when I get home, Mick,” Ian said. He left the room and Mickey found himself following like some kind of fucking puppy or something.

Svetlana was waiting in the living room. She put the kid in Mickey’s arms and Mickey’s whole body went taut. “Take it back,” Mickey said numbly.

“I go with him,” Svetlana said. “I can get job there, too. You watch baby while I go.”

“No,” Mickey said. “Take it with you.”

“You are not working,” Svetlana pointed out tensely. “Who will hire if I bring baby?”

“I—”

“No more bullshit with baby,” she barked at him. Mickey looked at Ian, silently pleading for help. Ian’s face softened.

“It’ll probably only be an hour,” he said softly, apologetically. He came closer and kissed Mickey’s cheek. “I don’t know what else we can do,” he murmured, just for Mickey to hear. The baby flapped one tiny hand and smacked him in the face and he pulled back, laughing a little. Mickey didn’t want to laugh. He wanted to scream. Ian patted Mickey’s back. “You can do this.”

Mickey didn’t answer. He couldn’t. He felt helpless again, like his dad was standing there with a gun pointed at his face. He felt like everything was slipping away, everything was just happening and nothing he did could make a difference. Everyone else had already decided what was happening. Again. And he had to just go with it.

He thought running with Ian meant he didn’t have to deal with that shit anymore. But now Ian was doing it to him, too. Mickey’s throat was all clogged up, his words dammed up behind a ball of tears and rage and terror. He couldn’t swallow it down, not all the way.

Ian and Svetlana left. They just walked out and left him with a fucking _baby_. What the hell did Mickey know about babies? The thing started wailing the second Svetlana shut the door. Mickey looked at it stupidly.

“Shut up,” he said shakily. That didn’t work. Its little face was turning red. It really had a set of lungs. “Okay,” Mickey breathed. “Uh.”

It was screaming so loud and he was on the verge of screaming back. He was a fucking lowlife with anger issues. He used to beat the shit out of people _for a living_. And they’d just left this tiny thing with him. He was breathing faster and faster the more the baby screamed.

“Stop,” he tried, but that didn’t work either.

He’d seen Ian put the kid on his shoulder and sort of bounce. Mickey wasn’t exactly sure how to move the baby to his shoulder. He was pretty sure babies were delicate. He didn’t want the thing, but he wasn’t some kind of fucking baby-killing monster. He didn’t want to hurt it, either. He moved it slowly, afraid of dropping it. He didn’t want to bounce, but he started walking.

It calmed down. “Fuck,” Mickey said, relief flooding his body. Now he just had to walk for however long it took for Svetlana to get back. That wasn’t so bad; he probably would’ve paced for a while anyway, because he was all strung out worrying about what was going on with Ian.

“You done?” He asked the thing. Maybe talking to someone who wasn’t going to talk back was a holdover from Ian being in bed for weeks. The baby looked up at him and Mickey swallowed hard. “Don’t look at me,” Mickey said. He felt like an idiot. Obviously the baby couldn’t understand what he was saying.

What did she say she called it? He couldn’t remember. Something weird and Russian. The baby gurgled at him and he made a face. It sounded nasty. He hoped it didn’t poop. He wasn’t dealing with that. He had enough shit on his plate without adding literal shit.

“You really fucked up my life, you know that?”

His voice broke. It was the truth. Without this stupid thing, so much of his life would be better. He probably never would’ve had to see Svetlana again if she hadn’t gotten fucking knocked up. And even if his dad tried to make them get married for some reason, he could’ve run off with Ian and not had her chase him down for cash. Mickey sniffled.

“Everything’s going to shit and I don’t know what the fuck to do.” Tears were welling up in his eyes and he couldn’t do a fucking thing about it. He had both hands on the baby so it didn’t fall. “I don’t want you,” he told it plainly. “I don’t want you here and I don’t want to pay for you. I don’t want Ian to quit the pills. He needs them. You’re ruining everything.” He was practically sobbing at that point. “I never wanted you. I never wanted any of that shit. I just wanted Ian.”

He cried himself out pretty soon. The baby didn’t even react. He wasn’t sure what kind of reaction he expected; the thing could barely make noises besides screaming. He put it down on the couch so he could wipe his face on his shirt.

It waved its little hands around. Like it was reaching for him. Mickey looked down at the thing, at the horrible reminder of the worst day of his life, at the thing giving Ian a real reason to quit the pills and go crazy again, and it was waving at him. It kicked its legs like it was going to march off somewhere like Mickey wished it would.

It couldn’t, though. It couldn’t do anything. It just went wherever anyone carried it.

Mickey stared down at it. “You know what it’s like to not get a say in anything, huh?” He said quietly. “You sure as fuck didn’t want to be born into this family. If you had a choice and you chose that, you’re fucking stupid. You stupid?” It didn’t answer him. “Yeah. You probably are stupid if you’re really my kid. Sorry, I guess. But you can’t be that stupid. No one’s dumb enough to pick a fucking whore for a mom and a Milkovich, huh?”

He shuddered a little. No, the kid didn’t pick any of that. The kid didn’t pick being born. Mickey knew that for sure. He’d spent a lot of time in his life wishing he’d gotten a choice about being born. He definitely would’ve passed on that. He ran his hand through his hair, still looking down at those blue eyes. It wasn’t like he was the only dude in Chicago with blue eyes. And hadn’t Svetlana been fucking Terry, too? This kid was just as likely to be his brother as his son.

Mickey shuddered again, swallowing convulsively. _Son_. If this kid was his, that meant he was someone’s father. He thought of his own father, all the fists and backhands and pistol whips over the years. Mickey couldn’t be a fucking father. He didn’t want to be. The only time he could remember even considering being a father was when he’d thought bitterly to himself once that someday if _he_ had kids he wouldn’t hit them. He’d probably been about ten, sitting on the back porch holding a piece of ice to his black eye.

Within a year, he’d stopped thinking about any kind of future. He never thought he’d live long enough to have kids. He thought Terry would make sure he wouldn’t. Instead, Terry had made him have a kid too young, so Terry had ruined that, too.

It kicked its legs again and made a noise. Mickey was crying again. “I can’t be your dad,” he told it. “I don’t know how and you make me feel sick.” It was drooling all over its own face. Mickey didn’t really know why people thought babies were cute. There always seemed to be something coming _out_ of them. Mickey didn’t find that very appealing. Mickey leaned down tentatively and used the neck of the kid’s shirt to wipe the drool away. It blinked its big eyes at him. It wasn’t scared of him. It didn’t move away from him. It couldn’t, even if it wanted to.

Svetlana was right. The baby didn’t get a choice, either. It was as helpless as Mickey felt. Mickey felt like he was drowning all the time, but at least he could run if he needed to. He didn’t want to, not with Ian here, but he _could_. What could a baby do? If it started drowning, this baby would die. It couldn’t do a fucking thing to stop it.

“Fine,” Mickey breathed. “I’ll pay for you so you don’t starve or what the fuck ever. But that’s all I can do. Understand? I’m not gonna be holding you and cleaning up your puke. Got it?”

It looked right at him and cooed. Mickey froze. What the fuck. It was like it understood him. He knew that was crazy, and he knew a baby that small didn’t understand words yet. But it looked _right_ at him after he said that. Could that mean something?

Before he could contemplate that further, the door opened and Svetlana came in. “I got job,” she said. Mickey didn’t know her well enough to read any emotion in her voice. If she had any. “Start next week.” She either didn’t notice that Mickey was all puffy-eyed and snot-crusted or she was just ignoring it.

“What are you gonna do with that?” Mickey asked, gesturing to the baby. It was going nuts at the sight of Svetlana, kicking and waving its arms and sticking out its tongue. Svetlana cooed at it in Russian and came over to pick it up. Mickey practically jumped away so she wouldn’t touch him.

“There are four adults,” she pointed out. “Someone can be with baby.”

“Not me,” Mickey said right away.

“Yes,” she said severely.

“No,” he said. “I’ll pay for shit, but I’m not touching it. I can’t—what the fuck? Why would you want me to?”

She watched him for a minute and he refused to let her see him shiver. He wouldn’t let her know it unnerved him, even having her look at him. “You are father,” she said. She was almost gentle about it. “You will learn. I did not know either.” She huffed. “I never wanted baby.”

Mickey swallowed hard. “Ian has—he’s sick,” he said. “He needs this medicine and it costs a lot. And we can’t—I mean…” He blew out a breath. “We have to pay for it.”

“Fine,” she said. “We make money enough for all things.”

Mickey rubbed at his lips. “Fine,” he echoed. “But don’t ever tell me I have to pay for something for the kid over the pills. You hear me? Ian comes first.”

She narrowed her eyes a little, but she didn’t argue. “Yes, is always obvious,” she said icily. Mickey didn’t feel guilty for running out on their wedding. How the fuck could she blame him for that? She knew what the situation was when she got to the house that day. Terry outright told her what was happening. She couldn’t be mad he’d chosen Ian. Or she could, he figured, but Mickey truly did not give a shit about it.

“Long as you understand that now,” Mickey said.

She nodded at him. The baby tugged at her hair and she pulled it away from him gently. “He has nap now,” she said. She headed off to Mandy’s room without another word. The baby looked over her shoulder at him. Mickey had no idea how well babies could see. Could it even see him? He didn’t know. But he found himself unable to look away, just in case.

 

Mickey was on edge by the time Ian got home. He’d bitten his fingernails ragged. He’d grabbed Pop-Tarts to eat holed up in the bedroom just to make sure he didn’t have to talk to Svetlana again that day. At least not alone.

Ian came into the room almost hesitantly. They looked at each other for a second. Mickey held out a Pop-Tart wordlessly. Ian came to lie on the bed beside him—still not touching—and took it. Mickey handed over Ian’s pill bottles and Ian took all three without another word about quitting them.

“You gonna stay on them?” Mickey finally asked.

Ian didn’t answer for a minute. He chewed his Pop-Tart way more than he needed to. “Yeah,” he finally said. “I talked to Mandy about it, too. And Lip and Fiona. Carl actually made me see the most. Reminded me of some shit Monica did. I…” He sighed. “I know I need them.”

“Yeah,” Mickey agreed.

Ian stared up at the ceiling. “But you heard what Musse said. It’s not like I take the pills and get better and then I’m fine.” He swallowed hard. “This is the rest of my life, Mick.”

“Yeah,” Mickey said again. He sat up and looked down at Ian. “It’s okay, though,” Mickey said. “We’ll figure it out.”

Ian pushed himself up to his elbows, avoiding Mickey’s eyes. “Maybe I should go back to Chicago.”

Mickey’s stomach dropped. “What?”

“Give you more money for your kid.”

“I already told her you come first,” Mickey said fiercely.

“I don’t think I should,” Ian said softly. “I think a baby deserves to come first.”

“Yeah, well, I don’t fucking care about that baby.” It was…mostly true. One afternoon hadn’t changed his mind. But it might’ve put a little seed in there. He didn’t outright hate the thing, really.

“Fiona said she can get me a job,” Ian said.

“You have a job,” Mickey reminded him. He knew he sounded like he was begging, but he didn’t care.

Ian shrugged, not meeting Mickey’s eyes. “Don’t make enough on my own to pay for my meds.”

“So?” Mickey asked. “Between both of us we do.” He remembered back when Ian got pissed at him when he said to send money back to the Gallaghers. It felt like forever ago. “Isn’t that what you wanted? Sharing money and all that shit?”

He’d figured out why Ian was mad about it. Mickey hadn’t had a discussion with him. He hadn’t acted like it was _their_ money, like they were sharing. He’d never realized it was a discussion they were supposed to have. He figured they were paying rent together, so they were sharing. He didn’t know Ian wanted some kind of invitation to Mickey’s money, too. Well, he could have it. This was Mickey’s invitation now.

“Sure,” Ian said. “But better to just get it over with now,” he mumbled.

“What the fuck are you talking about?” Mickey demanded. “Get what over with?”

“Mickey, how long you gonna do this?” Ian asked. His eyes were starting to get shiny. “What, you’re gonna be my fucking nurse forever?”

Mickey couldn’t get a full breath. “Why not?”

“You don’t owe me anything.”

“I…” Mickey swallowed hard. He forced the words out. “I love you.” Ian just stared at him for a minute. Mickey had to make him see. “We take care of each other. Better or worse, sickness and health. All that shit.”

“What, we’re gonna go to the courthouse like two old queens?” Ian asked sarcastically.

“I don’t know,” Mickey said, panicked. “Why not?”

“Mickey, are you even listening to yourself?” Ian asked. “Where’s this coming from? Eight months ago you kicked out the shit out of me when I tried to get you to say you loved me.”

“I wasn’t—Jesus, it’s not like I was thinking straight or anything,” Mickey said. “Are you kidding me? I—fuck, Ian. I _left_ with you. Don’t you get it? You were right. Okay? I’ve loved you this whole fucking time.”

It was sort of a revelation to both of them, in all honesty. But Mickey had realized what that feeling in the shower was the other day, that protectiveness. It was love. He loved Ian. He had to be where Ian was, had to make sure Ian was okay. He needed to sleep next to Ian and hear him breathing, needed Ian to kiss his forehead when he woke up sweating from a nightmare. He _wanted_ to kiss Ian good morning and good night every day for the rest of his goddamn life, wanted to hear his stupid honking laugh and annoyed huffs when Mickey was irritating him. Mickey couldn’t deal with a baby and the fucking baby mama who came with it without Ian at his side. Mickey wasn’t sure he could deal with _anything_ without Ian at his side.

“Maybe I’m just the first guy you’ve ever cared about,” Ian said stubbornly.

“Yeah, obviously you’re the first guy I’ve ever cared about,” Mickey said. “So fucking what? Maybe you’re the only guy I’ll _ever_ care about, you think about that? I look like a guy who goes around and falls in love easily?”

“You should be with someone who doesn’t need you to make sure he’s not going fucking crazy,” Ian said quietly. “You’re gonna clean up after me the whole rest of our lives? Remind me to take my pills, make my food for me, cut it up too because you won’t let me hold a knife? You don’t want a baby, remember? So you shouldn’t have to deal with a boyfriend you have to treat like one.”

Mickey had to close his eyes for a second. Ian said he’d talked to Fiona and Lip. This was probably all coming from them. They’d finally worn Ian down, made him think Mickey would get tired of this. Now that Musse said this was forever, Ian suddenly wasn’t so sure about Mickey’s loyalty like he had been before.

Mickey didn’t know what to say. He didn’t know how to make Ian see that he didn’t care. He didn’t care if he had to shove a million pills down Ian’s throat until the end of time. He didn’t even care all that much if Ian quit the pills. He just wanted to be with Ian, just wanted Ian to be _okay_. It was worth it to Mickey to play nurse to Ian if it meant he got Ian here beside him in bed, more or less fine.

It didn’t seem like Ian thought it was worth it to be with Mickey that way, though. And maybe this was all more than he’d bargained for, anyway. Maybe Mickey was another discarded muffin project. It had just taken Ian longer to get bored of him.

“Did you only run off with me ‘cause you were manic?” Mickey asked hollowly, the fear in the back of his mind for nearly a month.

“I don’t know,” Ian said. His voice was small, soft. “Maybe.”

They didn’t look at each other. Mickey was trying not to cry. He felt like Ian had just stabbed him. Ian got off the bed and stood there and Mickey still couldn’t look at him. “So you’re really going?” Mickey asked. “This is it?”

“Yeah,” Ian said quietly. “I’m going. I already bought a ticket.”

“Just ‘cause you go back without me doesn’t mean my dad’ll leave you alone,” Mickey pointed out desperately.

“He’ll want to know where you are,” Ian said. He shrugged. “I’ll say I don’t know. He can’t knock me around like he does you guys. I’m not his kid.” That wasn’t entirely untrue. It wasn’t like Terry had carte blanche to go around beating anyone else as bad as he did his kids. Sure, he still smacked down a lot of people around the neighborhood, but he saved up the worst of his anger and his violence for at home.

Ian pulled his duffel bag out of the closet. Mickey’s chest hurt. He thought about them shoving all their shit in there when they ran, how terrified he’d been of his dad catching them. He was more scared now. He felt worse.

Ian put his shit in the bag and kept his head down. He glanced over at Mickey for a second, and then he left the room.

Mickey was rooted in the spot. He couldn’t move. He couldn’t think. He couldn’t _breathe_. Fuck. Ian was leaving. Mickey had left everything he knew and Ian was leaving him. They’d run together, stayed together, built up a fucking _life_ together. And Ian was just throwing it away. He thought he was doing Mickey some fucking favor. Like Mickey would ever be able to handle living without him.

Mickey dropped his head into his hands and tried not to scream. He felt someone in the doorway and looked up fast, but it wasn’t Ian. It was Mandy.

“That’s all you’re gonna say to him?” She asked.

“He wants to go,” Mickey said woodenly.

“You think he _really_ wants to?” Mandy asked. “Come the fuck on, Mickey. You know him better than that. He thinks he has to.”

“I’m supposed to make him stay?” Mickey asked. “Why? If he doesn’t want to be with me, I’m not gonna fucking beg like some bitch.”

“You’re a fucking pussy,” Mandy spat disgustedly. She left him there, sitting like that. He could hear her in the living room, talking to Ian. He heard the kid squealing a little, Svetlana’s low voice. Then the front door closed quietly. Mickey was going to throw up. He needed alcohol and he needed it now, but he didn’t dare leave this room. He couldn’t handle another living person so much as looking at him right then.

There was this memory Mickey used to hang onto, back in the days when he held Ian at arm’s length all the time. It was stupid, but when shit got bad with Terry, Mickey would close his eyes and think about the look on Ian’s face the first time Mickey called him by his first name. He’d always called him Gallagher or dumb little nicknames, _fire crotch, Army,_ shit like that. But they’d been at the store late one night, in that summer before Frank caught them, and they’d gone through two blunts and a six-pack and Mickey’s whole body had felt loose and easy. He’d smiled over at Ian and said, “Ian, let’s fuck.”

He hadn’t even thought about what he’d said. He just wanted Ian to get on him. But Ian’s eyes had gone wide, wide, wide. To Mickey’s toasted brain, it looked like Ian’s eyes were just going to keep getting wider and wider until they took up his entire face. He remembered thinking that would be kind of sad. Ian had nice eyes, but the rest of his face wasn’t so bad, either. And then Ian had smiled, and Mickey had thought, _yeah, his eyes shouldn’t cover that up_.

And then they’d fucked, just like Mickey wanted. It was one of his favorite memories from their time before, back when he had to hoard the good memories because they were so few and far between. He hadn’t had to do that here. Almost every day since they ran had been some kind of good memory.

That reminded Mickey of the day they’d moved in here, how dizzy Ian had been about having their own apartment. “We can shut the door and no one can come in unless we let them,” he’d said.

“Unless they pick the fucking lock,” Mickey had pointed out.

Ian had rolled his eyes. “Don’t pretend you’re not excited, Mick. I know you are.” He’d tugged Mickey in by his belt loops. “You’re screaming inside.”

“Screaming about how stupid you are,” Mickey had shot back.

Ian had just shook his head smugly. “Nope. Screaming about how great this is.”

“Think you’re a real catch, huh?” Mickey had asked.

Ian had shrugged, a little of his arrogance dropping away. “Maybe,” he’d said. Mickey had felt kind of bad for being a dick. Ian _was_ a catch, a lot better than Mickey should’ve been able to get. He’d just had a hard time sometimes, still trying to be sort of hard but falling for Ian more every day. He’d nudged his nose along Ian’s the way Ian liked so much and kissed him.

“Maybe,” he’d echoed, and he hadn’t been able to hide his smile. He hadn’t _had_ to hide his smile; Ian’s had been just as big, blinding, and he’d laughed giddily.

It was like someone dumped a bucket of ice water over Mickey’s head. Ian loved him. He’d loved him since they were fucking in the dugouts in Chicago and stealing glances at each other when the other wasn’t looking. And now Ian was _leaving_ , because he thought loving Mickey meant letting Mickey go. Fuck that.

Mickey sprang up from the bed and ran out of the bedroom. He wrenched the door open, ready to run as fast as he could to the Metro, run all the way to the bus station if he had to. He couldn’t just let Ian leave like that. He took the stairs two at a time and pulled up at the corner.

Ian was sitting on the sidewalk.

“Ian, don’t go,” Mickey burst out right away.

“I’m not,” Ian told him. “I couldn’t.”

Mickey pulled at Ian’s arm until he stood up. He held Ian’s hand, right outside where anyone could look out the window and see. He dared anyone to come at him just then. He led Ian back up the stairs and into their apartment— _theirs_ , even with Mandy and Svetlana and the baby. They picked this place. They’d lived here for more than half a year. They’d fucked on pretty much every square inch of this place. They’d spent so many days and nights in here, laughing and arguing and living. They’d spilled beer on the carpet when they were shotgunning in lieu of a champagne toast because shotgunning beer was always going to be more their style than toasting with champagne. This was their _home_.

“We figure this shit out here,” Mickey said fervently. “You understand me? You and me. We work it out.”

“Yeah,” Ian said. “I can’t—Mick, I don’t know if I can do this without you.”

“Don’t do it without me,” Mickey said, embarrassingly choked up. “I don’t want you to.”

“I don’t want to.” At least Ian was choked up, too, so Mickey didn’t have to feel like a total dumbass. Mickey pulled Ian in and Ian buried his face in Mickey’s neck. “I didn’t ask you to leave just ‘cause I was manic. That wasn’t why.”

Mickey swallowed hard and shrugged. “Can’t really know that for sure, can we?”

“ _I_ know,” Ian insisted. “I mean, maybe—maybe I didn’t stop to think about the consequences or what could go wrong because I was manic. But that wasn’t _why_ , Mick. I’d run anywhere with you. _For_ you.”

“Well, I’m not going anywhere,” Mickey murmured. “Not anymore. Not without you. I don’t care if it’s shitty sometimes. Jesus, Ian, look how I fucking grew up. You think I can’t handle a little shitty sometimes when we got good shit too? The worst day here is still better than the best day I ever had there.”

Ian laughed a little through his tears. “I think you can handle anything, Mick. I just don’t think it’s really fair to you.”

“If I get you, it’s more than fair,” Mickey said. “More than I deserve.”

Ian shook his head. “Not more than you deserve.” He took a deep breath. “I’m scared. I’m afraid of the meds and I’m scared I’m just Monica all over again. She always—God, she just fucks everything up. Every time she comes back, she ruins everything. And Frank just lets her. I don’t want that to be us.”

“So I’m Frank?” Mickey asked. “I should kick your ass for saying that, man.”

Ian laughed a little. “I don’t want to do that.”

“So don’t,” Mickey said. “Stay. Keep doing the meds like Musse said. You’re not Monica, Ian. Monica left you a billion times. But look at you right now. You didn’t leave.”

Ian pulled back a little to look at Mickey. He put his hand on Mickey’s cheek. “Can’t,” he said. He got the look on his face that meant he was about to say something really fucking stupid. “Home’s where the heart is, you know? And I left mine right here.”

Mickey groaned and shook his head. “You’re so fucking gay.”

“Yeah,” Ian said placidly. “But so are you.”

Mickey huffed a little laugh. “Shut up.”

Ian’s smile grew. He leaned in and kissed Mickey. Mickey couldn’t help the way he clung a bit. He’d almost lost this. He’d almost let Ian walk away. He couldn’t believe he’d be so stupid.

“What if we never get my meds figured out?” Ian asked.

“We will,” Mickey said steadily.

“You can’t know that.”

Mickey shrugged. “We’re not gonna give up just ‘cause we don’t know how long it’s gonna take to figure it out. We wouldn’t be here at all if we were that kind of idiot, right?”

Ian shrugged back. “Guess so.”

“Guess so,” Mickey parroted. “I know so. And I’m not good at being the optimistic one, so I need you to pick that shit back up and let me go back to freaking out about everything that could go wrong.”

Ian’s face split into a grin, and Mickey didn’t make himself bite down on his answering smile. They could do this. They could handle this. They could figure this out and be okay. Be _happy_. They could. Mickey meant it—he wasn’t optimistic about much. But he was optimistic about Ian. Ian had taught him how to be.

Mickey put his hands on Ian’s face and kissed him again, a second time, a third. Ian put his hands on Mickey’s hips, pulling him closer into Ian’s body. Mickey didn’t know how long they’d been out there, kissing and touching each other, when Mandy yelled from her room,

“Are you done yet? Or can you at least go in your room? We’re hungry in here.”

Ian cracked up laughing, holding onto Mickey and dropping his head to Mickey’s shoulder. Mickey rolled his eyes. “Fuck you,” he yelled back.

“We’re going to our room, Mands,” Ian assured her.

“Oh, we are?” Mickey asked. “Okay, I’m fine with that.”

“Thought you might be,” Ian said. He laced his fingers through Mickey’s to tug him down the hallway. Mickey wasn’t really big on holding hands, even now. But Ian looked back over his shoulder and shot Mickey a smile so happy it almost stopped Mickey’s heart, and he squeezed Mickey’s hand, and Mickey couldn’t think of a single reason he’d ever want to let go.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here is what I sort of consider an epilogue! Thank you everyone for reading along!

“What time you want me to come over tomorrow?” Abdi asked while he and Mickey were clocking out. He’d picked up a few shifts while he was on his winter break from school. He hadn’t even told Mickey ahead of time he was working, so Mickey showed up to work a few weeks ago and there was Abdi. It was kind of cool, actually. After Abdi went back to school and stopped working, they’d gone out a few times, hanging out at some dive bar the college kids all liked. But it kind of felt like old times, chucking suitcases around together. This was the last day Abdi was working, because school started again on Monday.

“I don’t know,” Mickey said. “Nine? That work?”

“Yeah, that’s fine,” Abdi said. “Gotta get the truck back to my uncle by four.”

Mickey snorted. “Won’t take that long. We don’t got any shit.”

“The couch and the beds might take two trips,” Abdi said. “And then you think everything else will fit in one?”

“It’s like one box of dishes,” Mickey said. “The only one with any stuff’s the fucking baby.”

Abdi laughed. “Okay, see you tomorrow.”

“Thanks, man,” Mickey called after him as he headed to his car.

When Mickey walked in the front door, the baby was working on crawling toward a fork someone dropped on the floor. It would probably take him like an hour to get there, because he mostly just wiggled himself across the carpet, but he looked pretty determined. Mickey stooped down and grabbed the fork. The baby was not happy to be thwarted.

“You got a death wish or something?” Mickey asked him. “I know this place is shitty, kid, but you don’t even know how much worse it could’ve been for you.”

The baby was painstakingly pushing himself around so he could sit up and do that bouncing thing and happy scream he did when he got excited, mouth open in a gummy smile. Mickey still felt kind of weird when the baby got all happy to see him like that. The feeling was not exactly mutual. He didn’t make Mickey feel sick to his stomach anymore, but Mickey didn’t know if he was ever going to get to the point of being _happy_ to see the baby. There wasn’t really any part of Mickey that felt a bond toward the kid just because of DNA. People kept talking about paternal instincts kicking in, but Mickey didn’t see that happening. If Terry was anything to go off, it was probably better for the kid if it didn’t.

But he was reaching for Mickey, babbling, and Mickey knew it was kind of rude to ignore him, not to mention all that bouncing was pretty likely to knock him over with how shitty his balance was. In all honesty, Mickey didn’t really care if the kid fell over, except he screamed like a fucking banshee every time he did and it was annoying, so Mickey picked the kid up. “What are you saynig?” He asked. “Learn to fucking talk already.”

Ian poked his head around the corner and laughed. “Mick, he’s only six months old.”

“And?” Mickey asked.

“He probably won’t be talking for real for like a year,” Ian told him. “And even then it’ll be hard to understand. You should look at that milestone chart we printed out.”

Mickey looked down at the baby. “What you think the chances of that are?” He asked the kid. “Zero or fucking negative twenty?”

The baby didn’t have an answer. Because he was a baby, and he was stupid. Ian came over and pulled Mickey’s face toward his for a kiss. “Daddy’s home,” Ian cooed at the baby.

“Don’t be gross,” Mickey grumbled.

Ian just laughed at him and kissed him some more. Mickey wasn’t going to complain about that. “He’s not gonna call you _daddy_ if we don’t make sure he knows you’re his daddy,” Ian pointed out.

“I don’t give a fuck if he calls me _daddy_ ,” Mickey said, making a face. “He should call you that. You’re the one who does everything.”

It made Ian duck his head a little, because he actually _loved_ the baby. He probably wished he was the dad. The kid would’ve been better off with him as a dad, that was for sure. But whatever. Ian would be around as much as Mickey ever would.

“He can call us both daddy,” Ian said.

“Whatever.” Mickey shrugged. “What’d you do after work?”

“Yev and I ran five miles today!” Ian’d found some shitty old stroller and he was always packing the baby into it on his runs. Mickey didn’t get why anyone would run if they weren’t being chased, but Ian had always been into that stuff. Plus, Musse said it was good for him to have goals to work toward. Whenever Ian talked to Fiona, they chattered away about running and how they were going to race during their next visit. Ian was working back up to long runs like he used to do, but it was taking him a long time to get back to where he was. He got frustrated about it, but he’d always been one of those people who pushed themselves for shit like that. Mickey didn’t get it, but he liked that Ian was happy about it.

His other goal was the GED, and he’d somehow gotten all three of the rest of them to agree to take it, too. Svetlana was having some extra trouble because her English was so shit. But Ian was working with her on that, patient and easy-going like he always used to be. He seemed pretty happy these days. Not like that meant he was perfectly fine and wouldn’t have any more issues. But just overall, he seemed to be doing okay.

“Nice,” Mickey praised. He grabbed at Ian’s ass. “I can feel it.”

Ian cracked up and elbowed him. “You can feel it later.”

Mickey laughed. “Alright, good. You been packing?”

“Yep, we’re ready. Mandy got pizza for tonight so we don’t have to worry about dishes.”

“Smart,” Mickey said. “Abdi’s coming at nine tomorrow. You’ll have time to eat breakfast and take your pills before he comes.” There were still days when Ian looked down contemplatively at his handful of pills, but he never quit taking them. He even had extra pills now; B vitamins the pharmacist had suggested and some omega-3 thing Debbie sent so he wouldn’t have to eat fish.

Ian rolled his eyes, but he was smiling. “You don’t have to plan _everything_ around my meds, you know. I could take them at the new place as well as I take them here.”

Mickey huffed. “What if we can’t find them in all the shit? Better to make sure you got ‘em down before we go.”

“Okay,” Ian said, leaning in for another kiss. “Doctor Mickey.”

“Oh, you want to play doctor?” Mickey asked with a smirk. Ian laughed. The baby flailed and headbutted their chins. “Ow, fuck,” Mickey groaned. “Why’s he do that all the time?”

“I don’t know,” Ian said, rubbing his chin. “Maybe his head’s too heavy for his neck.”

“Well, get a stronger neck then,” Mickey scolded the baby. “You do that again and I’m dropping you on your ass.”

The baby gurgled at him and blew a spit bubble. Mickey rolled his eyes. He was pretty sure he was supposed to be charmed by that. He wasn’t. He handed the thing over to Ian, who immediately started making faces and weird noises at him. The baby loved that kind of shit. Mickey was less impressed, but Ian looked so stupid it was funny.

They were moving to a new place in the morning, now that their lease was up here. It was almost all the way out to the suburbs, but not far enough out they couldn’t use the bus or the Metro. It was an actual house—a shitty, old, falling-apart house in a neighborhood that wasn’t going to pop up on any best neighborhood lists, to be sure, but still a house. It had three bedrooms, two bathrooms, and a little backyard. Mandy was excited to get her own room back after a few months of sharing with Svetlana and the baby. The landlord of their new place was like eighty years old and he obviously was never going to do any upkeep around the place, but that made it cheaper and he didn’t do any background checks or make them pay an application fee, so what the fuck ever. Svetlana was already on Mickey’s back about building a swing set. Like Mickey knew how to do that or wanted to spend time he wasn’t at work dealing with that shit.

Mickey and Svetlana had come to something of a truce. He didn’t complain when he had to take care of the baby, and she didn’t push for him to do more than the bare minimum. He had still never changed a diaper, and he absolutely did not plan to ever do so. Mickey was pretty sure Ian had a little heart-to-heart with Svetlana about why Mickey had issues with the kid. It wasn’t rocket science or anything, but still.

Mickey was sort of embarrassed about Ian having to do that—the fact that Mickey couldn’t just suck it up, the way Svetlana had, made him feel shitty—but at the same time, he was grateful. He’d been on edge for the first month she was there, until she eased up a little. Mandy and Ian picked up most of his slack on the baby front. Mickey felt a little guilty about it, but he was working on just being grateful.

Ian was eighteen now, so they got to put their actual real names on the lease. Terry was back in jail again, but more than that, Mickey found himself worrying about Terry chasing after them a lot less these days. It wasn’t that he thought Terry wouldn’t still kill him if he got the chance. It was just that Mickey was starting to understand the likelihood of him getting a chance was really small. He knew Terry really had been as bad as he remembered. Mickey hadn’t exaggerated anything in his memories. A lot of times, he’d downplayed it, and thinking about it now, away from Terry, telling Ian about it, he realized it was worse than he’d thought. But it was…not okay, exactly. It was just a little easier to deal with nowadays. Mickey had people on his side helping him deal.

Mickey was a little worried sometimes about people besides Terry. It wasn’t like Terry was the only person in the world who saw two dudes together and wanted to stomp their faces in. But Ian and Mickey both knew how to fight pretty well. Mandy could hold her own most of the time, too. Mickey had never seen Svetlana in action, but he was willing to bet she was no stranger to violence. And living with Svetlana and Mandy meant neighbors might just think they were two straight couples. He didn’t have to lie awake at night picturing all the ways people could break in and hurt Ian.

“Are you packed?” Mandy asked, coming into the kitchen.

“What do I even have to pack?” Mickey asked. “I have like four shirts.”

“He’s packed,” Ian said.

“You let your boyfriend pack for you?” Mandy teased, raising her eyebrows.

“Whatever, he carried my shit here, he can carry it out,” Mickey said with a shrug. Ian snorted, but he smiled because Mickey hadn’t even made a face at the word _boyfriend_. It was starting to practically roll off his tongue these days. He’d even told the new landlord he and Ian were boyfriends. He was pretty sure the old dude was deaf and didn’t hear him, but still. He’d said it.

They ate pizza standing around in the kitchen. The new place came with an actual table and chairs, so they’d sold their shitty table to a neighbor they all knew was a crackhead. Mickey knew crackheads. Spotting potential customers had been a valuable skillset before. Ian had patted the table kind of sadly and said, “Well, who knows how you’ll be treated over there.” Mickey had snorted at him, because for one thing, it was a table, and for another, it wasn’t like they’d been bastions of civilization themselves. Sure, they’d never done lines off the table, but they’d found out the hard way that thing was not sturdy enough to fuck on.

“Nyet,” Svetlana said to the baby as he tried to grab at her slice of pizza.

“Babies can’t have pizza?” Mandy asked.

“Cheese stops his poops,” Svetlana explained. “He will cry all night and not poop for days.”

“Just like Mickey,” Mandy cracked. Mickey flipped her off.

“That’s why he’s so cranky all the time,” Ian added, laughing wildly, so Mickey shot him a middle finger, too.

The baby screamed, frustrated that Svetlana wouldn’t let him have her pizza. She clicked her tongue at him and muttered in Russian. Mickey was not prepared for how goddamn loud babies were. He screamed all the time, whether he was happy or mad. It was a little off-putting. As if the kid wasn’t off-putting enough already.

“Here, he can have a little crust,” Ian said, ripping off a miniscule piece of his pizza crust. “Just a teeny little bit to suck on.”

“I could use something to suck on,” Mickey said. “It’s not little, though.”

“Gross,” Mandy complained.

“Yeah, that’s what you get,” Mickey scolded. Making fun of his dairy issues was not something Mickey forgave easily. And Ian liked his joke, so he didn’t care if Mandy didn’t.

Abdi showed up right on time in the morning, because that was how Abdi was. Between him, a cousin of his, Mickey, and Ian, loading up the couch and the beds was practically effortless. They dropped them at the new place, where Svetlana, Mandy, and the baby were waiting with the rest of their meager belongings. They’d bought a mattress for Svetlana, but Mickey had already told her if she wanted an actual frame for it to go on, she was on her own.

“What’s in the kid’s mouth?” Mickey asked. It was almost reflexive to check. The baby was constantly shoving whatever he could get his pudgy little hands on into his mouth. Mickey didn’t know why something shiny seemed like something to eat, but there was apparently nothing as alluring as a nickel to that stupid little kid. Mickey kind of would’ve liked to see how many nickels the kid could actually fit in his mouth, but that was pretty nasty, considering how dirty money was. Not to mention Ian had a conniption fit when he saw Mickey wasn’t taking the nickel away. Apparently the baby was stupid enough to choke. How was Mickey supposed to know?

“Is cracker,” Svetlana said, unbothered. “Special for babies while making more teeth.”

“How many teeth does he have?” Abdi asked. He was looking at Mickey. Mickey shrugged.

“One?” He guessed.

“Three,” Svetlana corrected. Mickey shrugged again. Not like he spent a lot of time checking. Those teeth were sharp as hell, though; he’d get someone’s finger in his mouth and bite down. Mickey had almost dropped him once, because he was so surprised by how much it actually hurt.

“Is he just miserable when he teeths?” Abdi asked sympathetically. “I know those numbing medicines say not to give to babies, but my mom says it’s fine. She’s a pediatrician. She used it with all of us.”

“I use whiskey,” Svetlana said.

“Oh,” Abdi’s cousin said. “Uh. Yeah, I’ve heard that works, too.”

“You’re probably not supposed to give booze to a baby,” Mickey said. He didn’t really want to expose how low-life they were. Not that he thought Abdi wasn’t are; he’d worked with Mickey for almost a year, and he’d been to their apartment more than once, so it probably wouldn’t be a big shock. But Mickey, strangely, didn’t want a reputation for being shitty trash. He wasn’t sure exactly why he cared all of a sudden. That was the reputation he’d had his whole life.

Ian huffed. “Not like she’s putting it in a bottle for him,” he said. “You just rub it on their gums to numb the pain.”

“Yeah, I use whiskey to numb my pain, too,” Mickey joked. Ian snorted and elbowed him.

“Wow, you’re adorable,” Abdi said in high-pitched, teasing voice.

“You want to fucking die?” Mickey asked mildly. Abdi just laughed at him. He knew Mickey wasn’t going to do anything to hurt him. He’d helped them out too much. And loath as Mickey was to admit it, Abdi was his friend. Mickey had never been friends with anyone he wasn’t fucking, and even then it was only Ian, but Abdi didn’t seem to mind that Mickey was working against a learning curve.

“I gotta get to work,” Mandy said, checking the time on her phone. “Who’s got the kid today? Svetlana’s working later today, too, right?”

“Yes,” Svetlana confirmed. “Closing tonight.”

“We do,” Ian said. “We’re both off today.”

“Both _getting_ off today,” Abdi teased. “Hey-oh!”

“Gross,” Mandy commented. “I’m getting so tired of being confronted with my brother fucking. I’m out. Bye.”

“Hey, wait,” Abdi said. “We can give you a ride.”

Mandy sized him up for a second. “You just trying to get me alone in your car?”

“Uh—no,” Abdi said. “I’m not—that wasn’t what I meant. I just meant…” He gulped and looked at Mickey. “My cousin’s coming, too.”

“Relax, man, she’s just busting your balls,” Mickey said.

“Be nice, Mands,” Ian admonished. “He helped us move and he’s Mickey’s friend.”

“Yeah, yeah,” she said. She gave Abdi a little smile. “Thanks.”

“No problem,” Abdi said. “Bye, Mickey. Ian. Nice to meet you, Svetlana. My mom wants you all over for dinner sometime.”

Mickey made a face. “I don’t know if we’re really mom people.”

“None of us really have one,” Ian said.

“Don’t tell her that,” Abdi’s cousin admonished. “She’ll adopt you. She’s still Facebook friends with my high school girlfriend and they swap recipes or something.”

“She cook?” Mandy asked interestedly.

“Not really,” Abdi said. “My dad’s the one who cooks.”

“We’ll follow anyone who feeds us,” Ian admitted.

“Well, they want to feed you next week,” Abdi said. “Musse and his husband will probably be there.”

“Musse doesn’t want to get too attached,” Abdi’s cousin said. He was Musse’s little brother. “He’s not supposed to have favorite patients. But being gay always makes him like you more.”

Musse was still helping Ian. And still for free. Mickey had been more than a little suspicious of that. Musse was older than Abdi by like ten years. He wasn’t as old as Ned, obviously, but he was probably around the same age as Kash and Grab. Mickey didn’t think he’d ever trust older guys around Ian. They’d both been married, too, and it hadn’t stopped them. Musse had pulled Mickey aside in the waiting room one week after Ian’s session and promised he wasn’t after anything.

“Mickey, I’m looking at a young, mentally ill, traumatized gay teenager,” he’d pointed out. “How can I not help?”

Mickey was still sort of suspicious, but it was hard to cling to mistrust for someone Abdi trusted. And it was even harder to mistrust Musse when he said he’d get them information about how to get Ian’s meds for free or at least cheaper.

“You’re not supposed to tell anyone that,” Abdi scolded his cousin. “Musse doesn’t want anyone thinking he plays favorites or anything like that.”

“Finding out he was gay made me trust him a little more,” Mickey admitted. More than he would’ve trusted a random straight dude showing up to see Ian at his lowest. “Means I didn’t have to worry about him bashing us.”

“Well, you’re gay and you’ve bashed people,” Ian pointed out.

Mickey made a face and rolled his eyes. “Most of them deserved it,” he said unapologetically, thinking of stupid Ned. “Not for being gay. Just for being shitty assholes.”

“Uh, okay,” Abdi said with a laugh. “I know you guys have a rich history.”

Mandy snorted. “That’s one way of putting it.” She was sort of edging toward the door. Mandy had more tact than Mickey knew about, apparently, because she didn’t just come right out and remind them all she couldn’t stand around and chitchat all day. But Abdi picked up on it and nodded.

“Bye,” Abdi said, echoed by his cousin. They all waved and said their goodbyes back. The baby even sort of screamed at them, which was probably his version of goodbye. Abdi was all excited about it. He liked kids, apparently. He was thinking of being a pediatrician like his mom. Mickey couldn’t think of very many things he’d want to do less. Not only deal with kids every day, but have to _look_ at all the gross shit coming out of them? Sounded like a nightmare.

Mandy followed them out with a wave to everyone else. Svetlana picked up the baby and took him to take his nap. She moved his wrist up and down in a little wave and he laughed hard enough to give himself hiccups. Mickey did laugh at that. Not because he thought it was cute. Just because it was funny. They practically shook his whole tiny body.

Ian tugged Mickey over to the couch. “So,” he said.

“So what?” Mickey asked.

“So here we are,” Ian said. He waved a hand at the boxes they needed to unpack and the empty space in the house. “Our own house.”

Mickey huffed. “Not actually our house,” he pointed out. “We’re renting it.”

“Okay,” Ian conceded. “Not yet.”

“You saying you want to buy this place?” Mickey asked skeptically. He would never buy a dump like this.

“Maybe not this one,” Ian said with a shrug. “But someday we’ll buy a house.”

“When we win the lottery?” Mickey asked, eyebrows raised. He’d never thought about buying a house. He’d never thought about putting his own name on a lease and being so excited about it, either, but he was pretty sure a lot of his enthusiasm on that had come from Ian signing the lease right under him.

“When we’re real grownups,” Ian corrected. “It’ll be nice, right?”

Mickey laughed a little and shook his head, but then he couldn’t help but picture a house they might buy. A small house, probably, because even if they were real grownups he couldn’t imagine them being able to afford much. He wasn’t sure how old they’d have to be to be real grownups. Thirty? That seemed pretty old. He wasn’t sure how much he could expect to save up in eleven years. Probably not much if they had to keep shelling out for Ian’s meds and whatever the hell new stuff the baby needed.

It would be cool if they could live somewhere without neighbors too close. He didn’t know where that would be, especially if they were still mostly poor, but if he was just imagining things he could imagine no neighbors. No one sticking their nose where they didn’t belong, looking at the two of them and giving them dirty looks. They could have a fireplace. Mickey had always sort of secretly thought that would be cool, being able to make s’mores inside your own house. Maybe that desire would go away when he was a real grownup. But maybe not. The image of making s’mores in a fireplace with Ian, laughing and telling ghost stories like they were dumb little kids, made him almost smile against his will. He was pretty sure Ian would like lying down in a front of a fire, all cuddled up together. He always wanted to practically burrow inside Mickey’s skin when they were lying in bed. Mickey used to kind of shove him away after a few minutes, unable to stay like that for too long. But Mickey found himself not minding so much these days.

He found himself not minding a whole lot of different things these days that he used to hate or think were pointless. Like the idea of sitting here, dreaming up a future. He would’ve never seen a point in thinking about the future a year ago. But now, looking at Ian, he wanted to do it. He wanted to dream about a house they’d buy someday. He wanted to imagine getting rich somehow, or at least just being in a place where they didn’t have to look in the couch cushions for quarters to buy baby food in the last few days of the month. He wanted to picture Ian all old and wrinkly. He wanted to think about the future, and even more than that, he wanted to make sure it happened.

“Yeah,” Mickey said, smiling over at Ian. “It’ll be nice.”

Ian kissed him and then nestled closer into his side. “How about right now?” He asked. “I mean, someday’ll be nice, when we have money and all that shit. But right now’s pretty good, right?”

Mickey looked down at the top of Ian’s head, that red hair he loved so much. Mickey had Mandy here with them, safe and away from Terry. She was starting to come out of her room more, hanging around after dinner and not moping so much about Lip and about that other jackass who hurt her. She hadn’t been on a date the entire time she’d been there with them, and Mickey was pretty sure that was actually a good thing. Let her be her own person for a while, give her some time to realize she didn’t have to be some dickhead’s punching bag. It wasn’t like Mickey was going to tell her this or anything, but he was ready to kill the next asshole who tried putting his hands on her. Mickey was done letting anyone beat up on his little sister.

Mickey had obviously never planned on Svetlana being here, and sure as hell hadn’t planned on having a baby around, but it wasn’t as bas as Mickey was afraid it would be. Svetlana was actually kind of funny sometimes, when Mickey could understand what she was saying, and she could drink more than Mickey without even getting drunk. She got along with Mandy okay, and she doted on Ian. The baby was…fairly neutral these days, which actually counted as a huge improvement. Mickey had almost kicked them both to the curb last month when the kid was growing all those teeth and screaming constantly, but Ian wouldn’t let him, and things were better now. Sometimes Mickey even smiled at the baby. Mostly when the baby was doing something stupid that was funny, but Mickey figured that should count for something. He wasn’t sure he could say he was trying, because he wasn’t, but he thought that was probably kind of okay, given the circumstances.

Most importantly, though, Mickey had Ian right where he’d wanted him for so long, for longer than he’d even realized that was what he wanted. They both had jobs. Ian’s meds were stable and he was feeling better all the time. He was smiling and laughing more. Mickey had to deal with Ian’s siblings more than he’d ever wanted to in his life, but even that wasn’t horrible anymore. They’d all come to Minneapolis again for Christmas and there hadn’t been any big explosions. Fiona was nicer these days, and Lip was at least not being outright hostile. Neither of them seemed to be actively trying to get Ian to leave Mickey anymore, either, so that was a big positive. Debbie, Carl, and Liam all seemed to actually _like_ Mickey, not that he could figure out why. He didn’t hate them, either, so it was okay.

Best of all, Mickey and Ian went to bed together and woke up together, every single day. When they got home from work, they went straight to each other. They ate their meals together and they fought over the blankets on the bed. Here they were on the couch, wrapped up in each other, talking and laughing and kissing. It was more than Mickey had ever even let himself imagine, back when he was under his father’s thumb, terrified of every look he stole at Ian. It was more than he felt like he deserved, that was for fucking sure. But it made him…happy. It made him feel light and loose in a way he’d never felt in Chicago.

Ian had said Mickey was the best thing that ever happened to him. Mickey wasn’t so sure he could believe that was true, but he knew Ian was by far the best thing that had ever happened to him. Ian was the first choice Mickey had ever made, as far as he could tell. He’d spent most of his life doing what he was told, going along with whatever his dad wanted. He didn’t want things; he didn’t _get_ to want things. And it hadn’t really bothered him; he hadn’t thought much about it, really, because he didn’t ever see it changing so what point was there in crying about it? But then Ian had shown up. Suddenly Mickey had _wanted_ to make choices, to change things so he wasn’t just going along with what Terry wanted. And choosing to listen to Ian, choosing to leave and get away together, was by far the best decision Mickey had ever made. Probably ever _would_ make.

“Yeah,” Mickey said, nudging his nose in Ian’s hair. “Right now’s pretty great, Ian.”

Ian looked up at him and leaned up for a kiss. He put his hand on Mickey’s face and just smiled at him for a second. He laughed softly and nodded to himself. “Pretty great,” he agreed.

They relaxed into each other, and Mickey felt truly at home for the first time in his life.

**Author's Note:**

> [my tumblr](http://biblionerd07.tumblr.com)


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